Finding Us
by Kezzabear
Summary: Ginny Weasley did not bring her wand anywhere anymore. There wasn't any point ... Harry Potter didn't really live anywhere. He hadn't really lived since Ginny Weasley walked out of his life.
1. Chapter 1 Useless

**Chapter 1. Useless**

In the five years since she'd left school, Ginny Weasley had not used Arithmancy once. She frowned as she straightened the shelves, letting the feather duster float ineffectually across the perfumes and cosmetics on the back wall of the pharmacy.

Of course, if she actually participated in the magical world, her use of Arithmancy _might_ be somewhat developed.

Ginny sighed heavily as she eyed the disgustingly pink articles lined up in neat, orderly rows on the clear glass shelves. Glass shelving, she decided was the stupidest invention ever. There were fingerprints all over the edges and several chips on one end. She groaned as she realised that someone's little darling had taken the top off the Teletubbies bubble bath and poured it into the grey carpet squares underneath the shelves. It smelled like a rotting lemon tree in this corner of the shop and cleaning it up would mean she'd first have to create more bubbles and white foamy goop than she could handle.

What she wouldn't give for her wand.

She could siphon it up if she had her wand. It would then vanish into nothingness (along with the rest of her life like passion and meaning) and she wouldn't have to worry about lost stock and disgusting smells (just like she didn't have to worry about other people or relationships).

But Ginny Weasley did not bring her wand anywhere anymore. There wasn't any point. It didn't seem to work for her, and no one could figure out why. She knew it pained her mother that she never visited anymore but Ginny felt all wrong at The Burrow. No one had been able to figure out why Ginny was no longer able to cast spells. About the most magical thing she'd done lately was figure out how to fix the broken cistern in her leaky toilet. That she'd fixed it using a rubber band and a wad of chewing gum was something of which Ginny Weasley was particularly proud.

But it hadn't required Arithmancy at all.

The number of things she had learned in school that were now quite useless was alarming. Levitating feathers was simply not done around Muggles (even if she could have done it) and kneeing a bloke was really just as good as a Bat Bogey (and sometimes more effective). Ginny had learnt that you don't dip ball point pens in inkpots and if you want a fire you strike a match. She also learnt that once people found out your magic was vanishing; they didn't know how to be around you anymore and they stopped calling … or coming around … or talking to you on the street.

You would have thought Muggle Studies was useful.

But it wasn't. Knowing that Muggles used funny things called Tellyfones to talk to people a long way away didn't mean you didn't jump every time yours rang. Knowing that electricity was caused by heat … or …. sparks or … something didn't mean you knew what Gladys Fidgeon was talking about when she said there was electricity between you and the bloke who delivered the tiny little white packets of things you learned tasted as bad as potions.

Some days Ginny Weasley felt particularly stupid.

Like the day she tried to levitate Ron's birthday cake out into the backyard, and it fell with a splat on the edge of the table and splattered the floor … and the ceiling … and Harry Potter who had been standing in the doorway. Or the time she got locked in the toilet because her wand had worked to lock it but not open it and Bill had to cast a charm that meant she could use the loo in private.

Because it would be too sensible to get a lock and key when you could show off your magic.

There was a time when Ginny could show off her magic. When she could amaze people with her very effective _Reducto_ or charm the wrinkles out of her Quidditch uniform. Or show off on her broomstick without crashing spectacularly to the earth, collecting three apple trees, the battered old hoop and Charlie on the way. Not that anyone said anything when she fell.

But she could see them all _looking_ at her.

Ginny left a few days later. They sent Hermione after her, but it didn't do any good. It wasn't like Hermione could give Ginny her magic back. Or stop everyone _looking_ at her. Or make Harry Potter forget she was about as useful as knocking on a tent. She'd given her tips on how to be a Muggle though and Ginny managed to convince Old Mr Wlliams in the little pharmacy twenty miles from nowhere that she could dust and stock shelves. Some days Ginny burnt everything but cold soup out of a can (as long as she could remember which kitchen gadget was the can opener) and forgot how to turn the lights off at the end of the day (until she labelled the light switches). But mostly she was fine – a little sleep deprived, and sick of canned soup, but otherwise quite well.

Physically.

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In the seven years since Harry Potter left school he had never once used Astronomy. He frowned as he studied the star charts Kingsley had left on his desk, drawing idly on the edges with the hot pink ink George had given him as a joke.

Of course, if he ever looked up at the sky, he might be more used to what the stars looked like.

But he never looked at the stars anymore because they were endless and full of possibilities and Harry's life had very little of that now. He glared at the tiny window to his office with its perpetual rain. You would think being the Saviour of the Wizarding World would get you some perks.

Like proper maintenance.

He sighed as he siphoned up the contents of the bucket near the door, sending the water in it to wherever it was banished things went. It wasn't a real window or real rain, and yet … the roof still leaked. Of all the things Harry Potter thought he'd need after he defeated Voldemort; he hadn't thought it'd be a siphoning charm.

It was appropriate though because everything else in his life had been siphoned up. All his time had gone (into fighting dark wizards), all his energy had gone (into avoiding the press), and all his interest in anything at all had gone (he wasn't sure where). After all it was hard to be interested in anything when your life consisted of skulking around in the shadows.

It was like he wasn't there anymore.

The Burrow was the only place he dropped the spells. The only place he let people see who he was. At least he dropped most of the spells. He had to leave some of them up or Molly Weasley would have a fit if she knew how limp his hair really was. How dark the circles were under his eyes. How many of his ribs poked out.

He hadn't had a photograph taken in years.

Harry tried to be interested. He turned up dutifully every Sunday for lunch and listened to Arthur tell him all about the sneezing teakettles he found in an electrickery shop in Somerset. And to George tell him about how the best-selling Wheeze was a hat with propellers that made you fly. And to Percy's animated retelling of getting his parchment length legislation passed. Even Percy's life was more interesting than Harry's.

Or at least he was more interested _in_ it.

Harry didn't care that he caught dark wizards for a living. He'd ended more than fifty illegal potions trades and uncovered more than a hundred underground dark magic clubs. He'd even arrested a number of murdering scumbags. There were several medals on his office wall (and a picture of Hogwarts that Hermione had given him for his birthday) and Harry had been granted more salary increases and promotions than anyone else in the Auror Department.

No one else in the Auror Department lived there like Harry did.

Not that he didn't have a home – because he did. There was a flat in London with his name on the lease and his mail piling up on the doormat. He even went there sometimes. He had a bed. And a kitchen table – he even had a chair (they didn't match). He had a couch in the sitting room and a potted plant in the corner (that Neville watered for him). But Harry Potter didn't live there.

He didn't live anywhere really.

He existed, and he survived from day to day (some days he even went so far as to heat the soup in the can – or make toast to go with it). And he kept a flat because he needed somewhere to put the potted plant and his school trunk when Ron and Hermione got married and turned his room into a library. But Harry Potter didn't _really_ live.

He hadn't really lived since Ginny Weasley walked out of his life.


	2. Chapter 2 Left Behind

**Chapter 2. Left Behind**

If there was one thing Ginny Weasley couldn't stand it was Little Bobby Nailor. If there was one thing Little Bobby Nailor couldn't stand it was Ginny Weasley. It was a mutual loathing, fuelled by mud splatters, newspaper routes and pharmacology. It wasn't that Ginny ordered a newspaper (because she was completely uninterested in the news) or that Bobby cared about the mud puddle on the edge of the garden outside Ginny's tiny cottage (because Little Bobby Nailor didn't care about getting dirty). The problem was that Bobby liked to spray the mud every time he rode past on Friday afternoon.

And he always rode past as Ginny was getting home from work.

Ginny suspected he did it because of the day she sold his mother that disgusting pink medicine. None of the other children hated her, no matter how much disgusting pink (or red, or green) medicine she sold their mothers. Ginny suspected Little Bobby Nailor had a pact with the devil. Ginny sighed as she stared down at her mud splattered uniform. Once upon a time she could have taken care of this with one wave of her wand (and given Bobby a nice surprise as well) now she had to go and try to find something that actually removed stains. It was hard when Old Mrs Watson at the corner shop was so deaf. Ginny really hadn't asked for navy blue dye.

It wouldn't have mattered except her work uniform was white.

Still it served her right for not reading the labels properly. And trying to run an electric washing machine. And doing it in the dark because she didn't realise there was a big electric button on the wall of the laundromat that would give her light. Navy blue streaked knickers and bras were really very practical.

It wasn't like anyone ever saw them.

Of course Phillip Norsebury had tried. But he'd also tried to make her go on a bus to the cinema in Westbury. And no one who tried to make Ginny go on a bus could possibly be up to any good. Cars she could come at (Nathaniel Winters had a really nice black Bentley even though he was a jerk) and trains were fair game (not that this little poky hamlet had a train station) but buses were from the devil.

Just like Little Bobby Nailor.

Normally when she was splattered with mud Ginny would go inside immediately because the easiest way to wash her uniform was straight away in the wash tub and then through the mangle (which Mr Fogarty at the antique store had been very amused that she'd bought). Today was … different. Ginny didn't know why but she stood on the footpath, outside her little cottage for a moment and looked down the street. There was no one there.

Unless you counted Mrs Figg who was shaking her bathmat on the front porch. Mrs Figg was always doing odd things like that. One day she came into the pharmacy carrying three cans of cat food in a string bag and asked for the flu. Most people didn't ask for the flu, they didn't want it. It was an acknowledged fact that Mrs Figg was more than slightly crazy.

She'd been seen talking to her cats.

Ginny wasn't sure how many cats the woman had. It might have been as many as twenty but was more probably five. One of them even looked at her funny. It reminded Ginny of Crookshanks. Sometimes it seemed like Mrs Figg had a fire going in the middle of summer. Ginny supposed that her joints ached. She did fill a lot of prescriptions for arthritis medication. Still it was curious when the smoke from Mrs Figg's chimney blew in circles, or looked slightly green. But because witches don't take Muggle arthritis medication Ginny knew she was just seeing things that weren't there.

Mrs Figg was no more magical than Ginny Weasley.

And Ginny Weasley wasn't magical at all anymore. She left all that behind. It was easier to pretend she wasn't even Ginny Weasley and that's why she didn't dress like Ginny Weasley anymore. And she didn't wear her hair like Ginny Weasley anymore. And she didn't play Quidditch like Ginny Weasley anymore (although she did once try ten-pin bowling with Neil Sanders). And she didn't laugh like Ginny Weasley anymore.

She didn't laugh at much of anything.

Ginny Weasley did a lot of thinking though. She thought about how sad her mother looked every time she came to visit. She'd leave treacle tart and do the dusting with her wand when she thought Ginny wasn't looking. Ginny thought about how delighted her father was with all the batteries she collected for him. And when Mavis from next door blew up her kettle and Ginny saved the plug, Ginny thought she hadn't seen her father so happy since the day she was accepted to play for the Harpies.

She thought about how she loved flying and Muggles couldn't do that unless they got in an airyplane. Just like Ginny now. She thought about how Gwyneth from the bakery swept the footpath every morning with a broom that looked like Harry's old Firebolt.

And she thought about Harry Potter a lot.

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If there was one thing that Harry Potter couldn't stand it was eating stale cake in Mrs Figg's stuffy sitting room. He hadn't been able to stand it when he was a child and he was barely able to stand it now. But he felt like he owed her. So he visited every week, Flooing in, and out again in one afternoon.

It wasn't like he had anything better to do.

The fruit cake was no better than the chocolate cake. And her house still smelled like cabbages. And cats. And those musty old moth balls that made all old ladies smell the same. He could usually pretend to eat a bite, feed most of it to the old Kneazle that looked like Crookshanks and leave within a few minutes. He never even had to step outside.

Ron used to tease him that the only date he ever had was with Mrs Figg. Until Harry punched him in the nose. Hermione had scolded them both for getting into a fight and Molly Weasley had tutted at the as she bandaged Harry's fingers and mended Ron's nose (and Harry didn't tell anyone that he'd taken Abigail Steingeld to dinner once). Ron stopped teasing him about his non-existent love life (and Abigail Steingeld met Steve Parry and never looked at Harry again). Now Harry went to Mrs Figg's every Friday and sat next to the little window with the net curtains and watched the little fat kid deliver his newspapers.

It always made him wonder that the little blonde down the street never got angry when he splashed her with mud.

Ginny Weasley would have gotten angry. She would have hexed the little fat kid (or his bicycle, she wouldn't have been fussy). But this girl never did. She always shuffled inside with her head bowed while the mud dripped off the bottom of her skirt. Ginny Weasley would never wear a skirt either. Nor did she have blonde hair.

So why did she always remind him of Ginny Weasley?

Harry hadn't seen Ginny Weasley for years. Not since she folded her Quidditch uniform and put it in the bottom drawer of her dresser and left The Burrow. Not since she put her wand on the kitchen table and left The Burrow. Not since she stashed her broomstick at the back of the broom shed and left The Burrow. Not since she closed the garden gate and left The Burrow behind.

And Harry.

Harry Potter didn't like being left behind very much. But he was used to it. His mum and dad left him behind. But he'd forgiven them for that – they didn't want to. Dudley always used to leave him behind – but he was glad about that. Ron and Hermione got married and left him behind. They didn't mean to (and Harry never told them they did that). Luna started travelling the world and left him behind – but he didn't believe in Crumple Horned Snorcacks anyway. Neville still came around - because Neville didn't know how to leave anyone behind.

Harry wanted to leave Mrs Figg and her cake behind. But he didn't. He fed the rest of his cake to the Kneazle that looked like Crookshanks and watched Mrs Figg shaking out her bathmat. Harry didn't know anyone else that shook out their bathmat. Or anyone who shook floor coverings out on the front porch. But he didn't find it odd that Mrs Figg did it. She did a lot of odd things these days – including trying to make him run errands for her to the pharmacy.

But Harry drew the line at buying haemorrhoid cream for Mrs Figg.

The blonde girl was moving. And not towards her own door. Towards Mrs Figg's door. Towards Harry. She'd never done that before. Harry leant towards the window, watching as the shapely legs walked slowly towards Mrs Figg's porch. Her pharmacy uniform was dripping mud the way Ginny's Quidditch uniform did after a match. Her hands clutched her handbag the way Ginny clutched her wand and her eyes looked up at Mrs Figg the way that Ginny's eyes looked up at Harry when she asked him to pass the salt.

Harry dropped his cake fork and the plate shattered into a million pieces as it fell from his nerveless fingers.


	3. Chapter 3 Run Away

**Chapter 3. Run Away**

The name on Ginny Weasley's shiny work badge was Alyson. Most people called her Allie (except for Mrs Fenwick-Smythe who always called everyone by their full name). But Mrs Figg always called her Miss Parker. Because that was what Ginny told people her name was.

When she was in the shop Ginny always knew what to say to people. She would ask if they needed help and then tell them the price (sometimes she even commented on the weather). After that she'd tell them 'Have a good day'. There was always the next line to say in her script. Never any questions. Never an uneasy silence.

But after Mrs Figg said, 'Good afternoon', Ginny didn't know what to say.

Her eyes darted to the front window of Mrs Figg's house where one of her cats must have jumped off the windowsill because the net curtain moved. Then she found herself staring at the bathmat in Mrs Figg's hands.

"Would you like to come in for tea, dear?"

"Oh."

Ginny Weasley hadn't been to afternoon tea in years. She didn't know if she remembered how to do that. Make the small talk that went along with the dainty little cups and the scones with jam and cream. Ginny thought she might like to try. Because Mrs Figg looked a little lonely.

Because Ginny _felt _a little lonely.

"Yes. Okay then. Thank you."

Ginny followed Mrs Figg up onto her porch. And through the doorway. And into the stuffy little sitting room that smelled like cabbage. And cats. And the musty old moth balls that made all old ladies smell the same (which Ginny sold a lot of at the pharmacy). The big old cat that reminded Ginny of Crookshanks stalked towards her and eyed her carefully. Ginny took a step back.

"Don't mind old Boomer. I'll get the tea. Mind you introduce yourselves."

There was a man in the sitting room sitting amongst the smells and the cats. And the shattered remains of a plate. Mrs Figg pushed Ginny back into the sitting room and shuffled down the hallway. The cat wound its way between Ginny's mud-spattered legs and the man stared at her with his big, brown eyes.

"Alyson Parker," Ginny said at last as she perched on the edge of an overstuffed chair that smelled faintly of the same sort of talcum powder that came in little tubes (and Mrs Endicott said was brilliant for getting rid of ants).

The man with the big brown eyes said nothing.

"I just finished work," Ginny ventured. "I work at the pharmacy."

"Do you sell haemorrhoid cream?" blurted the man with the big brown eyes.

Ginny looked at him as if he had two heads. It wasn't often she was asked that in someone else's sitting room. It wasn't often she was in someone else's sitting room. She wondered if he had haemorrhoids.

"Yes," said Ginny. She put her handbag on her lap and crossed her ankles. This man with the big brown eyes was very odd. He didn't say anything else, but he looked as though he wanted to run away.

Ginny wondered why he didn't.

Because she would have. There was a time when she didn't think she would ever run away from anything. Because that was not what she did. But then the war happened. And her brother died, and she wanted to run away from everything. That's all Ginny Weasley did now – run away from things. No one else who Ginny knew ran away from things. Of course, they didn't all lose their magic.

"I refused to go and buy it," said the man with the big brown eyes.

"That's fine," Ginny said (because she didn't really know what else to say to that).

Ginny wondered what his name was. And what he was doing in this place. Not the sleepy little village in the middle of nowhere, in the house with the crazy old lady that smelt like cabbages. And cats. And moth balls.

"Why do you let him spray mud on you?"

It was a fair enough question. Ginny didn't know the answer. She shrugged and looked down at her handbag. She still wasn't used to carrying a handbag. She wasn't sure it suited her. It was big and brown with huge buckles on the side. But she didn't really care what her handbag looked like. Not really. Not usually.

The man with the big brown eyes didn't say anything else and Mrs Figg came back in with the tea tray (and a dustpan for the shattered plate on the floor under the window). She poured a cup for Ginny. And a cup for the man. And a cup for herself. Then she handed Ginny a plate and put a piece of cake on it. It made a clunking sound just like Hagrid's rock cakes.

Ginny didn't think she'd be able to eat it.

Mrs Figg left to put the shards of shattered plate in the rubbish bin and the man with the big brown eyes fed his cake to the cat that reminded Ginny of Crookshanks. Ginny sipped her tea and waiting for him to say something. But he didn't. He just kept looking at her as if he was trying to remember what to say. And his hands shook so hard it made his teacup rattle on the saucer.

So did Ginny's.

It went well, Ginny thought. She didn't blurt anything embarrassing (the way she did the day Jimmy Foster invited her to his great-grandmother's for lunch). Ginny put the empty teacup on a side table and stood up, clutching her brown handbag with the big buckles. The man with the big brown eyes stood up too.

"I have to be getting home," Ginny said. "Thank you for the tea."

"Walk her home," Mrs Figg said to the man before she scooped up one of the cats (that looked like a squashed poodle) and left the room.

"You don't have to," Ginny said.

"I would like to," said the man with the big brown eyes. Ginny nodded because he didn't look like he would take no for an answer (or that he would try and hold her hand the way Newton Frobisher had done). And when they got to her gate, the man with the big brown eyes stood uncertainly, with his hands in his pockets, and stared at the mud puddle.

"Thank you for walking me home, Mr …?"

"Westley," blurted the man with the big brown eyes. "Al-Albert."

"Well, thank you Albert."

And Ginny Weasley walked up the garden path and through her door and the whole time Albert Westley stood by her gate. And when she shut the door he walked slowly away. And Ginny Weasley watched through the net curtains hanging in front of her sitting room window as his red hair (that reminded her terribly of Ron) vanished into the dusk.

And she wondered if she'd be invited to tea next week. Or if she'd be brave enough to wait for him on the footpath.

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The name on Harry Potter's office door was Harry Potter (which didn't come as a surprise to anyone). But most people still called him The-Boy-Who-Lived. Because that was what he had done. A long time ago.

When people asked him what his name was, Harry told them the truth. Sometimes. But not very often. And never when he was in disguise. Westley hadn't had a first name before. He hadn't needed one, because no one cared. But then Ginny Weasley asked his name, and Harry had to think of something. And Harry stared at her name badge, where the little engraved letters said Alyson.

He nearly said Alyson because he'd been staring at it so long.

Harry decided he liked Albert. Even if it was a bit old fashioned. Harry wondered if he remembered how to be a Muggle. Do all the little things like turning on light switches and walking instead of Apparating. Harry thought he might like to try. Because Alyson Parker looked as if she wanted a friend. And Harry wanted to be her friend.

And Ginny Weasley didn't want to be friends with wizards anymore.

Harry watched Ginny Weasley walk up her garden path. And through her doorway. And shut the door. And then Harry Potter slowly walked away. He wondered why she had blonde hair and if she thought he was an idiot for asking if she sold haemorrhoid cream. He stopped at Mrs Figg's front porch and saw her peering out at him from behind the net curtains in her sitting room window. She beckoned him in, and Harry climbed the steps. And went back into the sitting room with the smells and the cats.

"I don't think she's a Muggle," Mrs Figg said, sitting on the edge of the chair Ginny had sat in earlier (the one that smelled like Aunt Marge's hankies).

Harry said nothing.

"She works at the pharmacy," Mrs Figg said.

"Is that why you wanted me to buy haemorrhoid cream?" asked Harry.

Mrs Figg looked at him as if he were stupid. Of course he was, thought Harry. She wanted him to meet Alyson Parker. Why else would she invite her inside when she knew that Harry didn't like to talk to anyone? Harry wondered if Mrs Figg really had haemorrhoids (not that he really wanted to think about that). Harry crossed his arms and thought about running away.

Because that is what he did now.

He never used to. But then the war happened. And people died and Harry was the victor. But it didn't feel much like a victory. No one else knew Harry ran from things. Of course, they didn't see the real Harry Potter. He hid that man from everyone. Even Neville. Harry thought Neville might know anyway.

"I wonder who she really is," Mrs Figg said. "And what she's doing in this sleepy little village selling perfume and mothballs and the sort of blue hair dye that old ladies use."

"And you thought I would know?"

"I thought you might," Mrs Figg said. "And you could find out why she's so sad. Like you."

It was a fair enough assessment. But Harry didn't know what to say to that. So he shrugged and looked down at his feet. Harry didn't care what disguise he wore. Not usually. But Mrs Figg knew he wore the eyes like Ginny and the hair like Ron when he was feeling particularly sad. Not that seeing Ginny made him sad. Because seeing Ginny made him want to smile.

Only he didn't know if he knew how anymore.

So he made the corners of his mouth turn up (and wondered if he looked as silly as he felt). And then Mrs Figg gathered up the teacups. And the plates. And the piece of cake that the old Kneazle who looked like Crookshanks had dropped on the hearthrug. And her hands shook so badly all the teacups rattled and the teaspoons fell into the wood basket.

So did Harry's as he threw the Floo powder into the fireplace and went home.

There was a man standing in Harry's sitting room. Harry was surprised. But then he looked at the clock and realised he'd never been this late before. Because he'd never stayed more than long enough to ditch his cake and drink half his tea.

"Oh," said the man, staring at the man with the big brown eyes. "Is that you Harry?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"I'm glad I caught you," Neville said. "Hannah wants you to come for dinner."

He twisted his hands. He was nervous. He thought Harry would say no. Harry usually said no (even though Hannah's cooking was nearly as good as Molly Weasley's). He usually said no to everyone and they'd all stopped asking. Except Neville.

"You don't have to," Neville said.

"I want to," Harry said. And Neville was surprised.

So was Harry.

And Neville smiled and told him to be there at six and Flooed out again. He left the full watering can on the hearthstones. Harry watered the plant in the corner (and nearly drowned it because he was thinking about Ginny Weasley).

And he wondered if he would see Ginny through the net curtains again next week. Or if he'd be brave enough to wait for her on the footpath.


	4. Chapter 4 Come Home

**Chapter 4. Come Home**

Ginny didn't go to church every Sunday because she wanted to. She went to church every Sunday because it was expected of her. Everyone went to church. And if you didn't go to church people whispered nasty things about you and looked at you funny.

And Ginny had enough of people looking at her funny.

As she sat in the back pew (where she always sat) and listened to the sermon (that the pastor always gave), Ginny wondered what she was going to do with her life. She wondered this every few weeks. But she never came to any conclusions. Her life stretched out the same in front as it did behind.

Unless you peered back far enough. And then you could see the shadowy times when she was happier. When she smiled. When she laughed. When her hair was still red.

When Harry was still in her life.

It wasn't his fault he wasn't in her life anymore. Not that he ever was really in her life. Not exactly. He had been there but that didn't make him in it. And he wasn't there anymore. Not in it, or standing next to it, or anywhere near it.

Because she'd left.

Ginny stood up when the service was finished and sidled out of the pew and into the aisle. She thought she might make it to the doorway before Stanley Fisher stopped her to see if she wanted to join him for lunch (and a Battlestar Galactica marathon). She might not know what she wanted to do with her life but watching Science-Fiction wasn't anywhere near the top of the list.

She wasn't fast enough, and Stanley Fisher was suddenly in front of her, waving an ancient looking tape in an ancient looking cover, and bouncing like Little Susie Spinner the day the doctor prescribed her the sedative (which clearly didn't work).

"I just know you're going to love this one," Stanley said.

"I don't know …" Ginny said.

"Are you busy again?"

Stanley's face fell. Ginny didn't know why he was surprised (or even bothered to ask her). She never went to Stanley's mother's house to sit and watch Tellingvision in the basement. She didn't really know what a Tellingvision was, but it used eckletrickery and that just wasn't her friend.

"Yes," said Ginny. "I am busy."

"One day maybe, when you're not busy …"

Ginny nodded but she knew she didn't mean it. She felt bad. But not bad enough to tell Stanley yes. She'd been to a Moving Picture with Gloria Bond once and the loud noises had made her spill the popcorn all over the man in front of them (which wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't tried to clean it up and pulled his toupee off). The last thing Ginny needed was to sit up close to a noisy moving picture box (and risk discovering Stanley had a distinct lack of his own hair).

"What are you doing, then?"

"Going to my parents'."

Ginny hadn't meant to say that at all. She didn't plan to do that. She didn't even know if she could do that. Perhaps she said it because that is what most people did on Sunday afternoons? Perhaps she said it because it was something Stanley would believe? Perhaps she said it because she had been staring at the back of Old Mrs Dumplemeyer's head and she was wearing a hat just like the one her mother wore to Great Auntie Muriel's funeral?

Perhaps she said it because she wanted to go?

"Oh, that'll be nice then," Stanley said. "They live close then?"

Ginny stared at him, wide-eyed. The Burrow wasn't close at all. It had taken her half a day to get here on a train. Even if she had a bike (and could stay upright on it longer than half a minute) it would take all day to ride there. And she didn't have the Floo hooked up, even though Percy said he could get her a permit. And she couldn't Apparate even though she had a licence.

Because Ginny Weasley couldn't do magic anymore.

"Yes, they do live close by," Ginny said, lying through her teeth.

She felt bad about it afterwards. Because she didn't like to lie. Even though her whole life was a lie. And she lied to everyone, every day. She lied to Old Mr Williams when he asked if she had a good night's sleep and she said yes. She lied to Doctor Smart when she said she had all her vaccinations as a child (whatever they were). She lied to Little Bobby Nailor's mother when she agreed that he was the most precious boy ever to walk the face of the earth (or throw a tantrum on it).

And she lied to her mother when she said she'd visit.

"Enjoy your visit," said Stanley.

"Thank you, I will," said Ginny, wondering if she would get struck down for lying in a church.

She wished she'd gone outside before she told Stanley she was going to her parent's house so that she could at least lie outside the sanctuary. Even though she knew Mr Pennyweather lied to the pastor about enjoying the sermon (because he never heard it since he was asleep).

Ginny clutched at her buckled brown handbag and made sure her hat was secure before she walked home. She wondered what she was going to do all afternoon. Just like she wondered every Sunday afternoon. And Ginny wondered why she never went to The Burrow.

Because it suddenly seemed like a very good idea.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry didn't go to The Burrow every Sunday because he wanted to. He went to The Burrow every Sunday because it was expected of him. Everyone else went to The Burrow on Sundays (except Charlie, but that's because he lived in Romania). And if you didn't go to The Burrow, Molly Weasley sent you a Howler and you were in big trouble.

And Harry had enough of being in trouble.

As he sat at the table (in the same seat he always sat in) and dutifully ate everything Molly Weasley put in front of him (because it was the only square meal he got all week), Harry wondered if this week would be different to all the other weeks. He wondered that sometimes, and it never was.

Harry thought that was because he never did anything about it. He wondered if this week he could make if different to all the other weeks. He wondered this week if he'd be able to practice smiling again. And if he'd mean it.

Because he'd seen Ginny again.

Harry used to smile when she was in his life. Not that she was ever in it, not really. She was there but she never came in. She was always standing next to it, nearby, on the edges. Because Harry was too afraid to invite her into it. In case she left like everyone else.

And then she did anyway.

Harry stood up and started gathering plates before Ron could challenge him to a game of chess. Getting beaten by Ron every Sunday after lunch was a bad way to change this week and make it different from last week. Harry wasn't fast enough, and Fleur cleared the plates before he could do it. Ron was suddenly in front of Harry, waving the chess set around like a white flag.

Harry thought he should be the one waving a white flag.

"D'you want to be white?"

"Okay."

At least that was different to last week (when he'd had the black pieces). But Ron shouldn't have been surprised when he won. Harry hadn't ever beaten him at chess. Harry stared at the little white men as they shook their tiny fists at him and realised that choosing the white pieces didn't mean that life was changing.

Harry had tried learning how to play chess from Percy once. Percy was terrible at chess (but he knew an awful lot about cauldron bottom thicknesses). Harry felt bad that he was such a terrible opponent. But Ron never complained. He always smiled and clapped Harry on the back and told him 'better luck next time'.

And Harry lied and said he'd look forward to it.

Harry lied a lot lately. He had never meant to. But he lied to Kingsley every time he said he was rested enough for a new Auror mission. He lied to Molly Weasley every time he said he was looking after himself. And he lied to himself every time he looked in the mirror.

Harry sighed as he shoved the chess pieces back into the box. Ron had gone off with Hermione like they always did, to take a walk (no one thought they were walking). Arthur was dozing in front of the sitting room fire and Fleur was still doing the dishes. So, Harry was the first one to hear the thump.

"Did you hear that?" Harry asked George.

"Nah," mumbled George. "Can't hear nuthin' properly anymore can I?"

"I heard a thump."

"Probably Ron and Hermione on their 'walk'."

Harry wasn't familiar with sexual activity himself, but he knew that whatever it was Ron and Hermione liked to do on their 'walks' did not involve the kind of swearing he heard next. Or maybe it did (there was the story Seamus told once …)

"Bloody George," said a voice from the back garden.

"What did I do now?" muttered George as he got up and peered out the window.

And then George swore.

Harry went to look out the window. He wasn't expecting to see Ginny Weasley clutching her brown buckled handbag in one hand and a ratty feather duster in the other. She was frowning at the feather duster and Harry thought it must have been a Portkey. Because even Ginny Weasley had no good reason to be standing on the back lawn frowning at a feather duster (unless it was a Portkey, because those deserved to be frowned at).

"Well, blow me," George breathed. "She actually went and used it."

"George!" Molly Weasley said. "What on earth are you doing?"

But George didn't get in trouble for sending Ginny a Portkey. Because everyone was too glad to see her. Molly started crying. And Arthur couldn't speak. So, Bill had to go and get Ginny and bring her inside. She looked like she wanted to run, and Harry knew exactly how she felt because he wanted to run too. But she didn't.

And neither did Harry.

Ginny clutched her buckled brown handbag and sat down on the edge of a chair the way she did at Mrs Figg's. Molly hugged her and Arthur kissed her cheek. And Harry stared at her. Ginny looked at her feet.

"I'm so glad you visited," Molly said. "Would you like something to eat?"

But she didn't wait for an answer. And Ron and Hermione came back when Ginny was eating leftovers. And Ron said she looked stupid with blonde hair and Hermione hit him. Then they started to fight. And Ginny looked up at Harry as he ran his hand through his black, messy hair nervously. Ginny smiled as her eyes flicked to Ron and Hermione before she rolled them. And Harry smirked back.

She didn't stay long. And she didn't talk much. But Harry watched her the whole time. And Harry wondered why he never went to the pharmacy for Mrs Figg.

Because it suddenly seemed like a very good idea.


	5. Chapter 5 Notice Me

**Chapter 5. Notice Me**

Ginny Weasley never liked Mondays. She didn't know anyone who did. So, she supposed she was in good company. Or bad, depending on who was in the company. Some days she wondered if she was the good company or the bad company. This particular Monday felt like bad company. Ginny felt like snapping at everyone. And wondered if it was because she had lain awake most of the night.

Thinking about Harry.

She had forgotten that Harry went to The Burrow a lot. She shouldn't have forgotten. He _was_ Ron's friend after all. And he was looking well. As far as she could tell. Which wasn't very far because she didn't dare get close to him. Even though he was watching her.

A lot.

Probably trying to figure out what she'd done with her hair. Ron was right; she did look like 'bloody Fleur'. Only a lot less graceful (or, you know … beautiful). Still it wouldn't have been such a shock (and Hermione might not have threatened to hex him) if she'd let anyone but her parents come and visit. But she'd been adamant. And very surprised Hermione and her parents kept her secret. Of course, an Owl could find her and George wrote to her sometimes. But she hadn't told _them_ where she was. And if they knew, they didn't visit, just as she'd asked. Sometimes she wondered why they didn't just find out and visit her anyway.

Hermione had probably threatened them.

Ginny turned the 'Closed' sign over, so it read 'Open' and checked that she had her shiny 'Alyson' badge pinned to her pristine uniform (that had taken her hours to scrub clean). She peered out of the window and groaned. Mrs Adams was marching along the street with a piece of white paper in her hand (and a limp). Mrs Adams filling a prescription was never a good way to start the week (or end it).

"Move along girlie," said Old Mr Williams. "The shelves don't stock themselves."

His gout must be playing up if he was grumpy enough to call her girlie. Or he'd seen Mrs Adams coming down the street too. Or the fact that she was staring into space daydreaming about Harry Potter's hair was irritating him. Ginny stocked the shelves with new bubble bath and daydreamed of Harry Potter's eyes.

Mrs Adams wanted antibiotics. And a new shower cap. And something to keep her regular. Ginny hated thinking of people's regularity. As she punched the buttons on the cash register Ginny frowned at the smiling woman on the box. Mrs Adams couldn't look like her no matter how many sachets of regularity she took.

"I'd better have some of that … cream," Mrs Adams's voice fell to a whisper.

"Which cream?" Ginny asked.

Mrs Adams looked sideways, as if she was being followed. She leaned closer to Ginny and eyed Old Mr Williams grimly. Ginny leaned in too. Mrs Adams had two red spots on her cheeks. Ginny wondered if she hated blushing as much as she did.

"The cream … I need the cream that … goes with … the, ah, powder." Mrs Adams was whispering.

"I didn't know it had any cream."

"She wants the haemorrhoid cream!" called Old Mr Williams from his little counter in the corner.

Mrs Adams looked mortified. And Old Mr Williams looked satisfied. And Ginny spent the rest of the morning thinking about Albert, the man with the big brown eyes. And she hoped he didn't have haemorrhoids. But she was fairly sure she would never see him again to find out (not that she would ask him that). Ginny hadn't wanted to see a man so badly since she gave up on Harry Potter.

Except Harry Potter.

But Harry had never noticed her (no matter how badly she wanted to see him). He went off and saved the world. And then he went off to become an Auror (and saved the world some more). And Ginny went back to school (and had to convince Barry Norton she wasn't interested in pet sitting his snake). And then she went off to become a Quidditch player (and had to convince Ralph Foster she wasn't interesting in petting his 'snake').

And then Ginny started losing her magic.

So, Ginny gave up any hope of Harry Potter ever noticing her. What she needed was a nice Muggle man. Someone nice. Someone dependable. Someone ordinary. Someone like Albert.

Who was standing outside the pharmacy staring at her through the window.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry Potter never liked weekends. He didn't know anyone else who didn't like them. Harry supposed this was just something else that made him odd. And weird. And unlovable. This particular weekend had been different. Seeing Ginny made every feeling he had shoved to the back of his mind (along with the time he caught Ron and Hermione shagging on the kitchen table) come right back up to the front. He started snapping at everyone. Maybe it was just because he was tired because he was awake half the night.

Thinking about Ginny Weasley.

She never came to The Burrow (which made everyone sad). He never had the chance to look at her these days. And now he had two chances in three days. So, he stared at her.

A lot.

She probably thought he was really creepy. But she never let anyone visit. Harry hadn't even known where she lived. Hermione wouldn't tell him, or Ron, and they had made her sleep on the couch (until they felt guilty two hours later). They probably could have found out where Ginny was (he was an Auror after all). But no one knew quite what to do with a Ginny who lost her magic and cried a lot. So, they never did. George sent her Owls but mostly they didn't want to make her cry. So, they left her alone.

Hermione thought they were incredibly mature.

Harry checked that he had his wand and then looked up to see who his duelling partner was going to be. He groaned when he saw it was Fenton Avebury. Fenton was always coming up with nasty little hexes that he'd invented. No one wanted to duel him because you never knew what he was going to throw at you. It was the worst way to start a week. But Harry was thinking about Ginny too much and Fenton made a fist appear out of thin air and punch him in the nose.

And after the Healer revived him, Harry's boss sent him home.

So, Harry went to the Leaky Cauldron. Which was unusual because he never went out. But he needed to talk to someone. And Neville didn't come to water the plant until the afternoon. And Hannah understood what Harry wanted even though he didn't say a word. Harry hoped it would be all right. He had never visited Neville before. But he thought Neville wouldn't mind. Hannah showed Harry to a room near the back of the pub. And Harry shuffled inside, and Hannah changed the sign on the door to 'Private' and closed it on her way out.

"I saw Ginny and I asked her for haemorrhoid cream, and she thinks I'm an idiot!" Harry blurted.

"Why would you ask Ginny for that?" Neville asked. "There are some really great plants-"

"I didn't mean to!"

Neville asked Harry what he meant to do but Harry couldn't tell him (because he didn't really know).

Neville poured Harry a drink and made him sit in a chair. And Harry told him everything. About Mrs Figg, and the stale cake, and the Kneazle who looks like Crookshanks, and the horrible little mud-splattering paper boy. He told Neville about Ginny and the blonde hair and the brown buckled handbag and the shiny gold badge that read Alyson.

"And I told her my name was Albert!"

"Don't you think you should tell her you are Harry?"

"But she doesn't like Harry!"

"What makes you think she likes Albert?"

Maybe Ginny Weasley didn't like Albert. But she definitely didn't like Harry Potter. Not like _that_ anyway. She didn't bat an eyelid when he had to go on Dumbledore's little quest (and figure out how to kill Voldemort). And she smiled and congratulated him when he went to be an Auror (and figure out how to capture the bad guys). And then she joined the Harpies and became famous (and rumour had it she was dating the blond Keeper for Montrose). Harry had never liked blonde hair. It reminded him of Malfoy.

And then she walked out of his life.

So, Harry Potter gave up any hope of Ginny Weasley ever noticing him. And with it any hope of anything. Maybe what she wanted was a nice Muggle man. Someone non-magical. Someone dependable. Someone ordinary. Someone like _Albert_.

Harry thanked Neville and said he had to go. And suddenly he was standing outside the pharmacy window staring at her.


	6. Chapter 6 I'll Stay

**Chapter 6. I'll Stay**

The edge of the glass shelves were all smudged. Ginny looked at them and frowned. She couldn't blame that on anyone's little darling. Or the smashed bottles of perfume on the floor near her feet. Ginny sighed because that would come out of her wages. Old Mr Williams grumbled at her to clean it up. Ginny looked out of the window again. Albert was standing closer to the window, a crease between his brows. Ginny just shrugged and turned to get the cleaning supplies.

And wished she had her wand.

When she got back Albert was standing inside the doorway, shifting uneasily. Carefully, slowly, Ginny picked up the large pieces of glass. Six bottles. Costly. And now the pharmacy smelt like an old ladies' hanky drawer. Old Mr Williams sold the worst perfume. No wonder she was always bloody dusting it. No one ever bought it. Maybe Albert did them all a favour, staring at her like that and making her knock it to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Albert said.

Ginny jumped because she didn't realise he'd come up behind her. She dropped all the pieces of glass she'd picked up.

"Really sorry," Albert said.

"That's okay," Ginny said.

She bent down to pick up the pieces of glass again. Albert crouched down beside her and picked up the biggest piece of glass. Together they put the pieces on the newspaper Ginny had spread out. Albert didn't say anything.

Neither did Ginny.

Albert smelt good. Well, he probably did. Ginny couldn't smell much but the perfume. But she knew he would. Everything else about him was undeniably enticing. Ginny found it odd. She hadn't thought of anyone as enticing for years (not even Everard King, no matter how hard he tried). No one Ginny knew anymore was enticing at all. Because she didn't know Harry Potter anymore.

Although she had always found _him_ incredibly enticing.

But she didn't know Harry. Not anymore. But Albert was here. She looked up at him. He had nice shoulders. But there was something odd about his hair. Ginny leaned forward a little. Albert looked up. It was like staring into his soul.

He had a very troubled soul.

"You're wearing contacts," Ginny blurted.

"I have bad eyesight."

"I'm sorry."

Albert smiled a little and shrugged. He looked down and began picking up the pieces of broken glass, dropping them on the newspaper. They made a little plinking sound as they fell from his fingertips. Ginny picked up a large piece of glass.

"I didn't mean to make you break them," Albert said.

"Well, now I don't have to try and sell them," Ginny said.

She looked up at Albert, trying to smile. He smiled back and Ginny's hand convulsed when she saw Harry's smile on Albert's face. A piece of glass clinked as it fell onto the others on the newspaper. Ginny looked down. A red stain was spreading on the paper where the blood was dripping from her palm. Albert grabbed her wrist.

Ginny gasped.

She didn't know if it was because of the blood pouring from her palm or because Albert's hand was warm. Slightly calloused. She watched the blood as it dripped from her hand. Albert fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a crisp, white handkerchief. He didn't look at all like Harry. She was imagining things.

"It's clean," Albert said.

He pressed the hanky to her hand and tugged her up until she was standing. Old Mr Williams waddled over. He peered at the stain spreading on the white fabric.

"Looks bad," Old Mr Williams said.

"Do you have a doctor here?" Albert said.

"A doctor?"

Ginny stared at Albert in alarm. She hadn't ever been to a doctor. She got quite close enough to them at the pharmacy. She had no intention of going near one. She was willing to press elecktrickery buttons and write with ballpoint pens. She could even ignore the strange tellingvision that winked at her from the shop on the corner when she walked home at night. But not a doctor.

"It probably needs stitches," Albert said.

Old Mr Williams grunted. Ginny looked at them both in horror. That Healer had stitched her dad once. It hadn't ended well. She tried to jerk her hand away, but Albert held it firmly in his grasp. And Old Mr Williams told Albert where the doctor was. And then Albert was leading her to the door, Ginny's buckled, brown handbag tucked under one arm. He might have told Old Mr Williams he would see her home safely. Ginny wasn't sure, all she could hear was the blood rushing in her head. All she could feel was her hand lying in Albert's. All she could see was the grey footpath rushing up to meet her.

And then Albert scooped her up and whispered in her ear.

HPHPHPHPHPPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The jagged edge of the bottle was smeared with blood. Ginny's blood. Harry frowned at the dark stain spreading on the newspaper. Ginny was just staring at her hand. Harry reached out and grasped her wrist. She gasped and Harry felt her pulse start beating really fast.

He wondered if she was going into shock.

She still stared at her palm. The blood kept dripping. Harry could smell her blood. It was sort of rusty, mixed with the smell of the perfume she'd broken. And the same flowery scent that always smelled like Ginny. Her eyes were the same too. The warm brown he saw in Molly's face that made his heart ache every Sunday. Her hair was growing out and he could see the faintest tinge of red at the roots. Red like her blood. That was dripping all over the broken shards of glass. Harry fumbled for a handkerchief.

He didn't have one.

Wordlessly, wandlessly, he conjured a clean, white handkerchief and pressed it to her palm. Ginny swayed a little on her feet as he pulled her up. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the stain spreading on the white cloth. Harry didn't like the look of it at all. The blood was spreading fast. It might need stitches. She should see a doctor.

Ginny definitely did not want to see a doctor.

Harry watched her eyes cloud over, and he heard himself say 'stitches'. Ginny's hand jerked in his, but he held onto it firmly. Harry kicked himself mentally, remembering Ginny's other encounter with stitches, when her father had been attacked by Nagini. But there was nothing he could do. Pulling out his wand and healing her would tip her off that he wasn't a Muggle.

And Ginny wanted to be a Muggle.

Ginny's boss agreed that she'd need stitches. And that she'd need the rest of the day off. And pressed her buckled brown bag into Harry's free hand and gave him directions to the doctor.

"She looks a bit pale, you going to be all right, son?"

"I'll see her home," Harry said.

"Well, if it's no trouble …"

The old man shuffled back to his counter. Harry pulled Ginny to the door. She swayed again and Harry peered at her. Ginny's eyelids fluttered a little and he could feel her hand resting in his as he pressed the hanky more tightly to her palm. His own pulse raced so fast he could hear it beating in his ears. Ginny swayed again. Harry gripped her hand tighter. And when she started to fall gracefully to the ground, he caught her.

"I'll stay with you."

Harry didn't know why he whispered that in her ear. Ginny wouldn't care if he stayed with her. She never had before. He wondered if she would care if Albert stayed with her. The blood dripped slowly from her palm and onto his shirt. Her hair tickled his nose as she laid her head on his shoulder. His steps never faltered as he strode towards the tiny surgery. Her breath was hot on his neck and her skirt had ridden up past her knees.

"Don't let them stitch me," Ginny murmured.

"I'll stay with you," Harry said.

Doctor Swenson tried to make Harry wait outside. Harry refused. Doctor Swenson tried to make Ginny show him her hand. Ginny refused. Harry pulled her hand into both of his and cradled it on his lap while the doctor looked.

Her hand trembled.

So, Harry caressed her hand as he held it in his own. Stroking her fingers and her wrist as Doctor Swenson peered at it. Ginny's hand stopped trembling. Doctor Swenson started nodding. Harry kept caressing her hand, watching the blood slowly drip onto his hands. He was covered in Ginny's blood now.

It was a hell of a way to hold her hand.

Doctor Swenson said she needed stitches. Ginny swayed. Harry looked into her eyes. It was like looking into a mirror. A beautiful, tortured mirror. She looked unsure. Uncertain. As if she didn't think this was going to be the answer. As if nothing could be the answer.

"I've never had stitches before," Ginny said.

"There's nothing to it," Harry said.

He was lying. He'd had stitches before. When he was about six. After Dudley pushed him off the steps at school. He'd been lucky really. They took him to the doctor. Harry remembered being stretched out on a massive clinical bed. Pinned down by a massive nurse in a starchy uniform while the doctor plunged a massive needle into his cut leg. Every stitch had been agony. And he was all alone.

"Stay with me?"

"I'll stay with you," Harry whispered.

Ginny clutched his hand tightly as Doctor Swenson strapped her arm down. Harry clutched it back. She scrunched her eyes shut as Doctor Swenson plunged the needle into her hand. Harry watched as a tear slid down her cheek and dripped onto the pillow under her head. He raised one shaky hand and brushed away the next one with his thumb. He caressed her cheek softly. Ginny opened her eyes and looked into his. And the whole time as he stroked her cheek softly. It felt wonderful. He had wanted to touch her like this for ages. Months. Years. Ginny whimpered as the needle began to sew.

And Harry stroked her cheek softly.


	7. Chapter 7 Don't Go

**Chapter 7. Don't Go**

Ginny stared at her hand, covered in white bandages while Doctor Swenson told her all the things she must not do for a week. Don't get it wet. Don't lift anything. Don't lean on it. Don't get it dirty. Don't touch things. Don't scratch things. Don't do anything. She didn't tell him how impossible that was going to be. He couldn't do anything about it. She just nodded. It didn't hurt now. It felt sort of numb. Ginny flexed her fingers experimentally.

It was good to feel numb.

It was odd. Because usually feeling numb left her with a sort of ache in her chest. Which probably meant she wasn't really numb. Ginny rubbed her eyes tiredly. She forgot she wasn't supposed to use her right hand yet. To keep it still. Gentle fingers pulled her hand away from her face. She could feel them on her wrist. Warm. Slightly calloused. Strong.

"No problem," Albert said.

He must have been talking to the doctor. He really shouldn't lie to the doctor. Of course this was going to be a problem. Ginny concentrated on the feel of his fingers on her wrist. His thumb moved back and forth across the delicate bones in her wrist. Ghosting over her pulse. Making it speed up. There was an odd shaped callous on his thumb. She used to have one just like it.

From riding her broomstick.

Ginny stilled. Watching as Albert nodded at Doctor Swenson and took a piece of white paper from his outstretched hand. She didn't recognise him. And he was wearing Muggle contact lenses. And the sexiest Muggle jeans. Ginny blinked. And clutched her buckled, brown bag tighter. She watched Albert's feet as they shifted when he stood up. He tugged at her hand again. Gently.

Ginny had the absurd thought that her father would be fascinated by her stitches and she should go and show him. And crawl into her mother's lap and beg her to take care of her. But she didn't have a wand. Or a Floo. Or a Portkey anymore. She couldn't get home anyway.

"Let's get you home," Albert said.

"Okay," Ginny said.

She knew he meant the little cottage she rented. He didn't know where she had lived before. In the crooked house with the loud family. Albert took her elbow and steered her out of the tiny, white room and into the crowded, noisy waiting room. He spoke to the receptionist. Ginny didn't know what he said but then he handed the receptionist some money. Ginny fumbled with her buckled, brown handbag.

"I have money."

"It's okay," Albert said.

He put his hand over hers. He stopped her trying to open her bag with one hand (which was not successful anyway). He shook his head slightly. Squeezed her hand. Ginny cursed the fact that her pulse sped up every time he touched her. There was another callous on his hand. His right hand. Ginny used to have one just like it.

From holding her wand.

Maybe it was some sort of Muggle callous that Ginny didn't know about. Like from riding a bike. Or driving a car. Or flying an airyplane. Ginny followed Albert blindly as he led the way out of the tiny surgery and onto the street. And turned the corner into her street. And walked all the way to her gate. And the whole time she could feel Albert's hand on her elbow. Guiding her. Protecting her. Ginny watched him. Wondered who he was. They stopped outside the gate. On the edge of the mud puddle. Albert pushed open the gate and helped her over the mud puddle.

"Have you got your key?"

Ginny knew her key was somewhere. In her handbag maybe. Or there was a spare one under the pot plant on the corner of her porch. Neville gave it to her. She tried to remember to water it. It looked a bit sad. She wished Neville would come and water it for her. But he didn't know where she lived. Hermione had delivered it. A long time ago now.

It was probably only still alive by magic.

Albert asked for her key again. Ginny blinked at him. Key. Muggles had keys. They didn't use their wand to open anything. She waved her buckled, brown bag at him. He seemed to understand what she was saying and plucked it from her grasp, searching through it until he produced her shiny, silver key.

"You don't have a lot of keys," Albert said.

"I don't have a lot of things to lock," Ginny said.

It was true. She kept a lot of things locked away. But they weren't the sort of things you kept behind locked doors. She kept her feelings locked away. Feelings about losing her magic. Feelings about trying to be a Muggle. Feelings about Harry Potter. She kept her heart locked away too. Albert smiled at her and unlocked the door to the cottage with a click.

Ginny thought she might have felt him unlock her heart.

She stepped over the threshold, clutching her chest. Looking for a seat. She needed to sit down. Or hyperventilate. Or both. The little cottage looked just like she left it. Like it belonged to a Muggle. Ginny fumbled for a chair and sat down heavily. Albert hovered uncertainly in the doorway. Ginny tried to steady her breathing and her eyes fell on her coffee table. On George's incredibly large black owl, Orestis. Who was sitting on her coffee table. Blinking at her. With an assortment of rubbish attached to him.

Portkeys.

George had sent her Portkeys. In front of a Muggle. Who had odd calluses on his hands which might be from riding a bike (or a broomstick). Albert blinked and shut the door. Orestis hooted softly. Albert shook his head. He was probably trying to get rid of the image of an owl tied to bits of rubbish. And sitting on her coffee table. Orestis hopped along the coffee table towards Albert who shook his head some more and backed into the front door.

"I – I – I should … I should explain," Ginny said.

She frowned. She wondered how to explain it. Orestis hooted again and blinked at Albert. The owl took off, flapping his overly large wings in her tiny sitting room and colliding with her net curtains as the boot on his left leg tipped him off balance. And then Albert held out his arm and Orestis flapped awkwardly over to him. And landed on his arm. Albert scratched the bird on the head. Orestis bobbed his head a little and Albert took a step into the room. He looked at Ginny uncertainly and gently transferred the owl to the back of Ginny's couch.

"I – I – guess birds like me."

He shrugged. Ginny tilted her head. Owls usually only did that to magic people. Wizards. They were smart enough to stay away from Muggles. Albert began untying the Portkeys from Orestis's legs. One boot. An old soft drink bottle (it was creaming soda, Ginny's favourite). An empty crisp packet. A little plastic … thing. Albert laid them out methodically. On the coffee table. Next to the big parchment envelope Orestis must have had in his talons (or his beak). He wasn't unnerved by the array of strange things. He didn't look twice at the massive orange parchment envelope.

Albert was a wizard.

He had to be. No one could look at this ridiculous assortment of things (calmly) and not know that Orestis was a post owl. Bringing Portkeys. And a letter. That had started to talk. Ginny froze. Albert froze. George's voice was magnified. Booming.

Giving away all her secrets.

Harry listened as George's letter started talking to Ginny. Saying how it had been great to see her. That she should come home to the Burrow more often. That he knew she didn't want visitors, but he hoped she'd come and see them sometimes. That Ron and Hermione had probably been shagging when she arrived, but they interrupted it just for her. That's how special she was because Ron and Hermione didn't interrupt that for just anyone (which Harry knew all too well). That their Mum was feeling so much better after her visit. That her Dad was humming a lot. That Bill whistled. That Percy laughed at a joke. That Harry Potter might have even cracked a smile.

Harry felt numb.

This bird was about to give away all his secrets. Orestis didn't deliver post to Harry a lot but he knew him. Harry had been terrified when Orestis flew straight to him. The bird had huge talons. Harry couldn't risk offending the bird. He held his arm out instead. Orestis was asking to be relieved of his burden. Ginny was simply staring in horror. So Harry put the owl on the couch, sank onto it and took off the Portkeys. And then the letter started talking.

It begged her to come home more often.

Harry rubbed at his eyes tiredly. Contacts made his eyes itchy after a while. A small, soft hand landed on his knee. It was warm. She started to take her hand away. Harry dropped his hand over hers, keeping it there. He felt his pulse race. He dragged his other hand through his hair as he looked up at her.

"Are you a wizard?"

He couldn't lie to her. But he already had. He couldn't keep doing it. But he couldn't start telling her the truth. She turned her hand over and her fingers stroked his palm gently. She didn't seem in a hurry to get rid of him (but neither had Samantha Jenkins when she handed him the Floo powder and ushered him out). Ginny's hand was soft. It wasn't calloused like his own. Like the bump on his finger from filling out paperwork.

Or the callous on his left thumb from riding his broomstick.

Harry wondered if she'd noticed. She didn't have them anymore. Because she wasn't magic anymore. And didn't want to be with wizards anymore. She was wearing a Muggle work uniform. And Muggle stockings (that made her legs look bloody fantastic). Harry clutched compulsively at the couch he was sitting on. He watched Ginny's feet shift as she leaned closer. She tugged at his hand. Gently.

Harry had the absurd feeling that she wanted him to stay. Which was obviously his feverish imagination working overtime. Ginny hated anything magical now. And she'd never liked him. Not enough to let him stay. Not now. But he couldn't leave. She still had his hand. Was stroking it with her own.

"I should go home," Harry said instead.

"No. Stay."

She squeezed his hand and he looked up at her. She shook her head slightly. Harry felt her smooth, soft hand, still under his own. His thumb brushed her wrist again. Her pulse sped up.

His matched it.

Maybe she didn't notice his calluses. She'd never held Harry's hand before. So she couldn't know. Harry watched her as she took a deep breath. As she shook the blonde hair out of her face. As she looked at him intently. Harry didn't say anything. He still hadn't answered her question. She hadn't asked it again. But she was watching him, to see if he would tell her (probably so she could throw him out). Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and she took a breath.

"Those are Portkeys," she said.

Harry knew they were Portkeys. She must have decided he was a wizard. Harry nodded. Answering her question. Confirming her statement. Giving up his secret. Neville told him to tell her that he was Harry. But he couldn't do it. Would Neville be disappointed in him? Harry didn't know. There were a lot of things about Neville that Harry didn't know. He thought maybe Neville knew more about him. Neville knew how to unlock things. Not doors. Feelings. Neville knew how Harry felt. And Harry hadn't had to tell him.

"So I can go home," Ginny said.

She was talking about the Portkeys. She told him that she didn't really belong here in this little cottage. In this world. That she didn't belong in the crooked house anymore. That she didn't belong in this world either. But she couldn't stay in that world and she couldn't stay in this world, but she had nowhere else to be. And no one who loved her the way she was. Without her magic.

Harry thought she might have broken his heart.

She thought no one loved her. When her family loved her so much they were hurting because she was gone. When he loved her more than anything in the world. When he would do absolutely anything for her, even stay away from her. He had never understood why Ginny wanted to leave. He had never understood what she was thinking when she left. Harry always thought she just wanted to get away from them. Because people with magic were freaks. Because she could have such a better life with normal people. Away from him. She would be happier.

But Ginny didn't seem at all happy.

Harry closed his hand around hers. If he let her go, he would never get her back. He knew that somehow. Orestis hooted at him again and hopped impatiently. Harry conjured an owl treat wordlessly. It was oddly shaped (his left hand produced wonky magic sometimes). And offered it to Orestis. The owl snatched it from his outstretched hand and flew out of the window above the kitchen sink.

"I –I – I should explain …"

Harry frowned. He wondered how much to tell her. And then his mouth opened and he told her. That he didn't know where he belonged either. That he didn't belong in this world and he didn't belong in that world. And no one loved him the way he was. Except Neville, he thought. But he didn't tell her about Neville, because then she would know and she would make him leave. And he couldn't bear it if she made him walk away from her the way she had walked away from him.

He couldn't give away all his secrets.


	8. Chapter 8 To See You Smile

**Chapter 8. To See You Smile**

Her hand started to hurt. Albert said it was the anaesthetic wearing off. Ginny wondered if he had originally believed she was a Muggle. Because he should have been able to heal her hand. She wanted to ask him why he hadn't. Why he wasn't. But she didn't quite know how to ask that of someone she had just met. Perhaps if she used a Portkey to go home and show her dad the stitches, then he would heal it. But that would mean leaving Albert.

And she wasn't sure she could do that.

Something told her that if she let him walk away, he wouldn't come back. So Ginny sat in her chair, her bandaged hand laying in her lap and her other hand resting in Albert's. Neither of them moved for the longest time. It might have minutes. It could have been hours. Ginny didn't know. Her hand throbbed too much and she was suddenly very tired.

"I'm sorry I can't heal it," Albert said.

He looked sorry too. Ginny liked it when how someone looked matched what someone said. Too often people had told her they didn't mind that she wasn't magical anymore. But their face always said they didn't know what to do with her anymore. Too often boys in the village said they would like to have tea with her. But their faces said they'd like to have _her_.

She didn't want them.

Albert was staring at the Portkeys on the coffee table and Ginny wondered why he couldn't heal it. He had conjured an owl treat. Wandlessly. Surely a little healing spell wasn't beyond him. Ginny looked at him for a moment. Not many wizards could do wandless magic. She wondered what job he did. Her hand throbbed painfully and she winced, hunching over and squinting a little.

"It was … because Muggles … laws ..." Albert said.

He seemed distressed. Ginny took a deep breath. Trying to focus on what he was saying. The dull throb in her hand was beating in time to her heartbeat. Her heartbeat was drowning out Albert's voice. Her hand clenched involuntarily. Doctor Swenson had given her a script for some of the little white pills she sold at the pharmacy. But Ginny wanted one of her mother's painkilling potions more than anything in the world. Her mother made the best painkillers. Ginny contemplated the Portkeys again. She just went to The Burrow yesterday. Her hand throbbed again. Albert was trying to explain himself. Her head was pounding too much to listen.

"It's okay, you thought I was Muggle," Ginny said.

It didn't explain why he wasn't healing it now. She wanted to ask him. Wanted to know. Ginny peered at him. He was running one hand through his hair. He looked nervous. His big brown eyes darted around her little sitting room and his foot tapped nervously on the faded floor rug. Only the hand holding hers was still.

His fingers still caressing her own.

Ginny was hungry. The clock on the mantelpiece said it was after lunchtime. The afternoon sunlight started to play over the bare, white walls. Ginny wondered idly if there was any bread. Probably not. She usually went shopping on Mondays. If she went home, Mum would feed her. She looked at the Portkeys again. She wondered if she could hold onto one with her hand so sore anyway. Ginny sighed and looked down at her injured hand. A pale red stain was spreading under the dressings, muted by the layers of gauze. Albert's hand still ran nervously through his hair. His foot still tapped nervously on the floor rug. Ginny squeezed his hand and all the movement stopped.

"I – I don't know what will happen if I try and heal it now," Albert said.

"It doesn't matter," Ginny said.

And it didn't. Albert gazed at her for a moment. He looked at her as if she was an old friend he hadn't seen her for years. It made Ginny feel warm inside. She wanted to feel like that always. Because she hadn't felt warm inside for a long time. Since the time she left. Albert made her feel warm.

The way it felt to be with Harry.

"Do you want to go home?" Albert asked.

"My name isn't Alyson Parker," Ginny blurted.

She was surprised she said that. She wondered what he would do now that she had told him her real name. The Weasley family was prominent. You weren't a wizard without knowing about the Weasleys. Ginny wondered if he'd try to use her to get Harry Potter's autograph the way Billy Meadowes did. Albert didn't say anything though. He just nodded as if it didn't matter.

"It's Ginny, Ginny Weasley."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Ginny Weasley."

He made her name sound like the best musical notes of the best symphony. He smiled like _she_ was playing that symphony just for him. Which was really quite ridiculous because all she could hear was the clock ticking on the mantelpiece (and Mrs Coates across the street beating the dust out of her rugs with a broom). He had a nice smile. Ginny liked it. But it still looked like he didn't use it very often.

Ginny hoped he'd use it more around her (if he stayed).

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His cheeks started to hurt. Harry wasn't used to smiling so much. Ginny had told him her name. Harry wanted to know why she couldn't tell it was him. Why she didn't know he was Harry. But he didn't quite know how to tell her that. Perhaps if he just went and got Neville. He'd tell her (and tell off Harry). That that would mean leaving her.

And he wasn't sure he could do that.

Something told him that if he walked out on her she wouldn't let him back in. So he sat there smiling at her (like an idiot probably). They didn't move. Harry smiled at her and held her hand. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. Harry didn't know. He suddenly felt energised.

"Are you hungry?"

She looked hungry. Harry glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and was glad Molly Weasley didn't know he hadn't fed her daughter before half past two in the afternoon. Suddenly Harry felt hungry. He couldn't remember feeling hungry. Not really. He used to be hungry all the time. Now he never was. Molly never believed him. He could tell. And he could tell it made her sad. He hated making people look sad. That's why he always ate everything she put in front of him. Even if he had to force it down. He didn't want to make her sad.

Because Molly already looked too sad.

Harry stared at Ginny's hand and she winced again. He felt terrible. It was true he couldn't be sure what would happen if he tried to heal the cut with Muggle stitches in place. But he also couldn't risk trying to do it wandlessly. He always did healing with his wand. He couldn't risk Ginny seeing his wand. Harry's wand.

She thought he was Albert.

It had been so distressing to make her go through the stitches. And now he couldn't help her with her pain. The doctor gave them some pills of something. But she should have a painkilling potion. She should have one of Molly's painkilling potions. Molly made the best painkillers. She'd once given Harry something for a cursed cut he got on assignment. He hadn't felt anything for a week. It had been like floating on a cloud. He should take her to The Burrow.

"I am hungry," Ginny said.

Harry didn't want to take her to The Burrow. They might recognise him. Her eyes darted to the Portkeys again. She wanted to go home. She didn't say that, but Harry knew. Her eyes darted around the room. She looked at the clock again. At the net curtains in the window. And back at the Portkeys on the coffee table.

Her hand twitched in his.

Harry knew he had no food at his flat. Unless you counted the mouldy potato under the sink. Which Harry couldn't even remember buying. Harry looked at the Portkeys. She could never hold onto one. Not with her hand bandaged like that. Harry ran his hand through his hair again and rubbed at his eyes. Ginny's hand twitched again and Harry caressed her hand gently. Her injured hand lay in her lap, the red stain spreading under the gauze. Mocking him. He couldn't heal her.

Just like he couldn't heal her magic.

But he could Apparate her home. So that her mother could look after her. The thought made his heart clench. He wanted to look after her. He didn't want to let her go. She made him feel warm inside. He wanted to feel like that always. Because he hadn't felt warm inside for years. Ginny made him feel warm.

He felt like his heart was healing.

"Would you like me to Apparate you home?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Ginny blurted.

She looked surprised that she had said it. Harry nodded. He stood up. Shuffled his feet. He wondered if they would recognise him. He wondered if she would find out who he really was. Harry wondered what she would do when she found out. He wondered if she would get mad at him. He wondered if she would walk away again. He wanted to savour every moment with her before she found out.

And turned away again.

Ginny stood up. She took a step towards him. Harry held onto her hand as if it was the most important, the most precious thing in the world. Because she was. Harry reached up to her cheek with his free hand. He touched her softly. She smiled at him and it felt like all the rays of the sun were reaching out to him. She looked like she didn't show that smile to many people.

Harry hoped she'd show it to him more (if she let him stay).


	9. Chapter 9 Home Safe

**Chapter 9. Home Safe**

Albert was very good at Apparition. Ginny was impressed. She thought he would hold her elbow. The way her dad did when he Apparated her to St Mungo's the first time she set fire to the kitchen (everybody said it wasn't her fault George had left the fireworks in the sink). But Albert held her hand. He held it the way her mother had when the Healers told her they didn't know why her Augamenti spell had turned into sparks (that made things _catch_ _fire_). And Albert had held her close the way Bill had when she'd been unable to make any sparks at all anymore.

Except Bill's touch didn't make her heart beat faster the way Albert's did.

They arrived at the back gate. The one with the rusty latch and the petunias growing out of the crooked pot near the hinges. Ginny looked up at Albert. He was scowling at the petunias. Ginny wondered if he hated the flowers or the pot (because Ginny hated the pot). Ginny hated this gate. The latch never opened for her. Harry could open it. But Harry wasn't here and Ginny wanted to see her mother. She thumped the latch and pushed on the gate. It didn't move. Ginny huffed in frustration. Albert let go of her hand and wrenched open the latch.

"Are you all right?" Albert asked.

"Yes, thank you," Ginny said.

But she'd felt better when he was holding her hand.

She'd feel better when her mother was holding her hand. Healing it. Ginny could hear her mother singing. It was a song about a Venomous Tentacula. Ginny did not think being wrapped in one sounded very loving (Celestina Warbeck had a lot to answer for). Ginny turned and looked at Albert. He was standing by the gate. He looked sad. Like he couldn't bear to go. Like he couldn't bear to stay.

"You'll be all right now," Albert said.

"Don't go," said Ginny.

She walked back to Albert. Past the petrified gnome at the edge of the herb garden (George would be in so much trouble when their mother found that). Past the broken cauldron that Ron had filled with snails 'for the cabbages' when she was six (he had been in so much trouble for that). Past the pink wellington she had filled with mud when she was five (Fred had gotten in so much trouble for that). Past the petunias in their ugly pot (someone should get into trouble for that). Ginny wanted to bring Albert inside. Her hand hovered futilely in front of her. She didn't know what to do with it. Her mother kept singing the song about being wrapped in love.

And Albert wrapped his hand around hers.

"I'll stay," Albert said.

Her mother stopped singing when she saw them. But she didn't cry (much). And somehow Ginny found herself sitting at the kitchen table, telling her mother everything. More words than she'd said to her in years. And the whole time Albert held her hand. It felt like home, but Ginny didn't know if The Burrow felt like home or if Albert felt like home. Because it was like Albert and home were the same thing. But Ginny didn't know where home was anymore. She knew it wasn't the little cottage with the net curtains and the dying pot plant on the porch.

Even though she'd told herself it was.

Ginny watched her mother as she made a pain killing potion. And she watched Albert as he sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea. He looked like he visited her parents every week. He looked like he never visited anywhere. He looked at home. He looked out of place. He looked like he wanted to run. He looked like he wanted to stay.

Ginny wanted him to stay.

He was bouncing his leg up and down. The way Ron always did when he was nervous. Maybe Albert was nervous. Ginny glanced at her mother. Molly Weasley was enough to make anyone nervous really. Albert was tapping his fingers on the table. The way Hermione did when she was anxious. Maybe he was anxious. Ginny didn't know why he might be anxious.

"I should go," Albert said.

"Stay," Ginny said.

Albert stayed. He stayed while Ginny drank the disgusting pain killing potion. He stayed while her mother made another cup of tea. He stayed while they sat around the table in silence, drinking it. He stayed while her mother unwound the bandages on her hand and frowned at the stitches. He stayed while she shook her head and looked sadly at Ginny. He stayed while she curled up on the couch and fell asleep.

And he was gone when she woke up.

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Molly Weasley was good at making pain killing potions. Harry thought she would heal Ginny's hand as well. But she couldn't. Not with stitches in there. So, Harry held Ginny's hand while she told her mother how sad she was. And he was surprised when Molly left them alone in the sitting room (but awfully glad because Molly was making him nervous). And when Ginny fell asleep, he held her close until Arthur came home and then Harry snuck out the front door (in case he was discovered).

It made his heart beat fast.

Harry arrived at Ron and Hermione's front gate. The one Hermione made Ron paint white every year. Ron scowled every time he had to paint it (because Ron hated painting). Harry hated this gate. It was hard to open. He _could_ open it. He just couldn't bring himself to most days. But he wanted to see Ron. And Hermione. Because he missed them. Which was odd because he hadn't missed them in years. He hadn't missed anyone in years. He wrenched open the gate and walked up the path and knocked on the door.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked.

"Yes, thank you," said Harry.

But he didn't mean a word of it.

He'd feel better when he dropped the spells and went inside. Harry could hear Ron talking. Asking him if he was selling vacuous cleansers (which sounded excellent for Bridget Waters who could use a good cleansing of her vacuousness). Harry could hear Hermione in the kitchen, singing a song about circles (Elton John had a lot to answer for). Harry looked up at Ron and muttered the incantation to take all the spells off. Ron looked shocked. Like he couldn't believe it was Harry. Like he knew all too well it was Harry.

"I'm not all right," Harry said.

"Don't go," Ron said.

He walked into the house. Past the broken doorbell (George had been in so much trouble for that). Past the pictures of Ron and Hermione's wedding that Harry wasn't in (he'd gotten into so much trouble for that). Past the sitting room where he and Ron blew up the toaster (Ron had been in so much trouble for that). Past the room that used to be his (until he was too much trouble). Harry wanted to go into the kitchen. He hovered in the doorway. He didn't know if he should go in. Hermione was cooking, singing Elton John songs.

And Ron wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Please stay," Ron said.

Hermione stopped singing when she saw them. And she cried (a lot). And somehow Harry found himself sitting at their kitchen table, telling them everything. More words than he'd said to them in years. And the whole time Hermione held his hand. He felt safe. It didn't matter that they could see the circles under his eyes. And how limp his hair was. All his bones sticking out. Because he was safe. He wasn't safe on his own anymore. But he was safe with Ron and Hermione.

Just like Neville had said.

Harry watched Hermione make him soup. And Ron watched him eat. He tried to look like Harry visited every week. But they all knew Harry hadn't visited for years. He looked sad. Ron looked happy. He looked like he thought Harry would leave. He looked like he knew Harry would stay.

Harry wanted to stay.

Harry bounced his leg up and down. The way Ron was bouncing his leg up and down. They were both nervous. Hermione glanced at them. She was tapping her fingers on the table. The way Harry was tapping his fingers on the table. They were anxious. Harry didn't want to feel anxious.

"I don't want to go," Harry said.

"Stay," Ron said.

Harry stayed. And Ron stayed with him. He stayed while Harry ate. He stayed while Hermione made Harry drink nourishing potions. He stayed while Hermione made a bed up in the library. He stayed through the silence. He stayed while Harry lay awake. He stayed while Harry fell asleep.

And he was still there when Harry woke up.


	10. Chapter 10 See Me

A/N: I will be away for 10 days, during which time I will be unable to update – but upon my return you shall have the remaining 9 chapters – never fear 😊

**Chapter 10. See Me**

Ginny had forgotten what a good cook her mother was. She had forgotten a lot of things. Like the way Sunday lunch at The Burrow made everyone smile. And the way her dad's eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. Like the way Bill chuckled whenever her mother told Charlie he needed a haircut. And the way Charlie punched Bill's arm when he finally got away from their mother. Like the way George put Wheezes in Percy's drink when he wasn't looking. And the way Percy pretended he didn't have blue antennae sticking out of his scalp.

Like the way no one ever saw Harry without Ron and Hermione.

There were some things Ginny remembered clearly though. Like the way Harry's messy hair fell into his eyes (even if it was a little limp). And the way his long fingers closed around his wand (or the knife her mother offered him). Like the way he smiled at her father when he explained about eckeltrickery (again). And the way his lips moved as he demonstrated what a microphone was for.

Like the way she'd always wanted to kiss him.

Ginny hadn't seen Albert since she'd fallen asleep in her mother's sitting room. That had been nearly a week ago and Ginny began to wonder if she'd dreamt the kind wizard with hair like Ron's and eyes like her mother. Her stitches were due to come out the next day and Ginny didn't know how she was going to face the doctor without Albert there to hold her hand. He had such lovely hands. His long fingers closed around hers so comfortably when he held her hand.

And she was sure he'd been stroking her hair as she fell asleep.

But she didn't know how to contact him. She didn't know if he would want her to. She didn't know if she really wanted to. The person she still really wanted was Harry. Who was sitting at the table. In the same seat Albert had sat in. Bouncing his leg up and down. The way Albert had.

"So, what did you do to your hand?" Ron asked.

Harry tapped his fingers on the table. The way Albert had. Ginny didn't answer Ron. She stared at Harry's long fingers. Tapping on the table. Ron waved his hands in front of Ginny impatiently. He raised an eyebrow at her. Asking his question again silently. Ginny had forgotten the question and stared at his hair.

The same colour as Albert's.

"She cut herself at work," her mother said.

Her father said something about her stitches, but Ginny wasn't listening. She was staring at Harry's fingers as they closed around his drink. Watching as they clutched the glass. The way Albert had clutched the Portkeys George had sent her. With his owl. The owl that only flew to people it knew.

The owl that flew to Albert.

Ginny raised her eyes to Harry's face. He was looking at her bandaged hand. He looked sad. Like the way Albert had when he'd been unable to heal her. His green eyes blinked as he raised his eyes to hers and he smiled softly. He looked different to last week when she'd come to The Burrow. Thinner. Happier.

Sadder.

Ginny knew how it felt to be happy and at the same time. It was how she felt when she switched on a light bulb. Happy because she had light. Sad because she couldn't do _Lumos_. It was how she felt when it rained. Happy because she loved the rain. Sad because it made the puddle outside her gate bigger. It was how she felt when she looked at Harry. Happy because she was near him. Sad because she knew she would never be his.

Ginny wondered what made Harry happy and sad all at the same time.

Maybe it was treacle tart. Happy because he loved it. Sad because it meant lunch was almost over. Maybe it was Quidditch. Happy because he enjoyed Quidditch. Sad because he was always destined to be an Auror. Maybe it was petunias. Happy because they were colourful and bright. Sad because they reminded him of his stupid Muggle aunt. Harry always scowled at petunias. Just like Albert had.

Ginny wondered if Harry was Albert.

But she didn't say anything. She just watched. And listened. Her father talked about a memo mix up at the Ministry (when he got all Mildred Scopes's memos). Her mother talked about the new season apples (and pie-making). Bill talked about his vegetable patch (which surprised everybody). Charlie talked about dragons (because he never talked about anything else). Percy talked about parchment thicknesses (no one thought he _could_ talk about anything else). George talked about painting the shop electric blue (or neon pink, he couldn't decide). Ron talked about going to the next Quidditch match (until he remembered it was a Harpies match). All the conversation stopped. Everyone looked at Ginny.

Ginny looked at her plate.

"I think the latch on the back gate needs fixing," Harry said.

Ginny was thankful for the change of subject. Ron said the latch always needed fixing. George said Harry was the only one who used the back gate anyway. Her mother began to berate him for the petrified gnome. Percy started lecturing Charlie about parchment lengths. Hermione started advising Bill about planting vegetables. Ginny watched Harry's hands twist his napkin into an intricate knot. He smiled at her. And she smiled back because he had rescued her.

Just like Albert had.

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Harry had forgotten what a terrible cook Hermione was. He had forgotten a lot of things. Like the way Sunday lunch was respite from Hermione's burnt offerings. And the way Molly Weasley looked at him when she thought he was too thin. Like the way Ron laughed whenever Hermione tried to help in the kitchen. And the way Hermione punched Ron's arm for laughing. Like the way George gave Percy Wheezes for dessert. And the way Percy summoned the cure from George's pocket.

Like the way Ginny conspired with George to stick Percy to his chair.

There were some things Harry remembered clearly though. Like the way Ginny's hair swung around her shoulders (even if it was the wrong colour). And the way her fingers curled around her cutlery (or her goblet). Like the way she smiled at her father when he asked her about bendy straws (again). And the way her lips closed over the end of the straw as she demonstrated how to use it.

Like the way he'd always wanted to kiss her.

Harry hadn't seen Ginny since she'd fallen asleep in his arms. That had been nearly a week ago and Harry began to wonder if he'd dreamt the way she'd needed him that day. Her stitches must be due to come out soon and Harry didn't know if she had anyone to go with her. To hold her hand. She had such lovely, small hands. They fit so nicely in his. Harry didn't know how to ask if she needed him.

Or if she wanted _him_.

But he didn't know how to ask. To see if she needed someone. To see if she needed him. He didn't know if she wanted to see Albert. Because 'Albert' hadn't contacted her. Maybe she hated Albert now too. Not that Harry wanted her to like Albert more than him. He wanted her to want Harry. Not Albert.

"When are you going back to work?" Percy asked.

Harry stopped moving. He didn't answer. Ginny stared at Harry. She raised her eyebrow in question. Percy cleared his throat. He eyed Harry impatiently. Asking his question again. Everyone was silent. Looking at Harry. Waiting for an explanation. No one knew Harry wasn't going to work.

Except Ron and Hermione.

"Soon," Harry said.

Ron said something about holiday time, but Harry wasn't listening. He was staring at Ginny's hands. Watching as she clutched her napkin in her uninjured hand. The way she clutched her buckled, brown handbag. Like it was shielding her. Or protecting her.

Perhaps from him.

Harry raised his eyes to Ginny's face. She was looking at him. She looked thoughtful. Like the way she looked when she was reading a book. Her brown eyes studied him carefully as he raised his eyes to hers and she smiled. She looked different to last week when she'd come to The Burrow. Secure. Safe.

Home.

Harry knew how it felt to be safe and home. It was how he felt when he was with Ron and Hermione. Safe because they showed they loved him. Home because they wouldn't turn him away. It was how he felt when he came to The Burrow. Safe because Molly treated him like her own. Home because she made him chop vegetables too. It was how he felt when he looked at Ginny. Safe because she was near him. Home because it was wherever she was.

Harry wondered what made Ginny feel safe and at home.

Maybe it was her mother. Safe because she took care of them all. Home because that is what mothers were. Maybe it was Bill. Safe because he was her biggest brother. Home because that's what she would find in his arms. Maybe it was The Burrow. Safe because she grew up here. Home because it was always where she was welcome. Ginny loved The Burrow.

Just like Harry did.

Harry didn't move when everyone started to clear the table. Ginny was watching him. She looked as though she was trying to decide something. Ron and Charlie were setting up a chess game (even though they all knew Ron would win). Hermione offered to help Molly with the dishes (because it was the only thing her mother-in-law let her do in the kitchen). Percy went to do the books (for George's shop). George slipped out to fix the gnome he'd petrified (but only because Molly had threatened him). Arthur wandered out to his shed (while everyone pretended he wasn't going to play with the batteries Ginny had brought). Ginny watched Harry (intently). Harry just watched her too (wondering what she was thinking). Then he realised everyone had gone. They were alone.

Harry wondered if she knew he was Albert.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. Ginny slipped away quietly to the back door. Harry followed her. They stood on the back porch for a moment. Harry watched Ginny's hands twist together and he reached out to gently pull her hands apart. Her hands felt wonderful resting in his own. He raised his head to look at her. And he knew that she knew who Albert was. And she didn't seem angry at all. Instead, she kissed him.

And he kissed her back.


	11. Chapter 11 First Kiss

**Chapter 11. First Kiss**

Ginny nearly gasped as she felt Harry's lips slide along hers. They were warm. And soft. And inexplicably caressing her own. The stubble on his chin rasped against her cheek as he tilted his head. She could feel his glasses pressing against her nose. And his warm, soft lips played with hers as she felt her knees give way.

And there were his hands, holding her up.

His hands, hot against her waist and her neck. Long fingers tangling in her shirt and her hair. Grasping her. Holding her. Pulling her close. She clutched at his shirt; injured hand forgotten. And Harry slid his lips over hers again and again. She could taste the treacle tart on his lips and feel the soft puff of his breath on her cheek.

And she wondered why she'd kissed him.

She hadn't meant to kiss him. The idea was ridiculous. A fantasy. A dream. She had meant to ask him if he was Albert. But then he looked at her and she just knew. She knew he was Albert. And she knew that somehow, sometime, she had already decided that next time she saw Albert she was going to kiss him. Because she was tired of not feeling anything. And Albert made her feel something. So she had kissed him.

And now Harry was kissing her back.

She had been sure that Albert would kiss her back. In that place at the back of her mind where she had decided to kiss him. But Harry wasn't supposed to kiss her back. Except Harry was Albert. And he _was_ kissing her. Ginny didn't know what to do next. She didn't want to stop kissing him, but she knew they couldn't kiss forever. Someone would faint. From lack of oxygen. (Unless she fainted because Harry had opened his mouth slightly to suck on her top lip.)

It was probably just as well that he was holding her up.

Ginny slid her good hand up Harry's chest and around the back of his neck. She tangled it into his hair, twining the strands around her fingers as she pulled Harry's bottom lip between her own. His hand on her waist splayed across her lower back, pulling her close and lifting her up so her toes just grazed the doormat under their feet. Ginny could feel her world spinning out of control.

And for the first time in years she wanted it to.

It was possible that they may have eventually passed out from lack of oxygen. Except her mother came out to collect eggs. (And Ginny felt herself blush scarlet.) And George came back from setting the garden gnome free. (And Harry's neck was bright red.) But her mother just smiled (and George smirked). Ginny didn't know where to look. So she fastened her gaze on the hanging pot plant behind Harry's head. She could feel his hand clutching her waist. His other hand drifted down to her shoulder.

And Ginny stared at the pot plant.

Her mother said something and Harry answered her softly. George started to say something and their mother cuffed him on the back of the head. Ginny clung to Harry's shirt as if it was a lifeline. Harry lowered her back to the ground. His hands slowly dropped from her waist and her shoulder. And Ginny unclenched her fingers from his shirt. Painfully. She could feel him looking down at her. She could hear the kitchen door swing shut.

And her own heart beating impossibly loud in her chest.

"I'm sorry I didn't heal your hand," Harry whispered.

Ginny stared at the bandages on her hand. Remembering. She remembered how she cut herself when Albert smiled. And how Albert had carried her to the doctor. She remembered how George's scary owl had flown to Albert. And how Albert had extended his arm. She remembered that Albert Apparated her to The Burrow's back gate. And opened it with a thump. She remembered that Albert sat in her mother's kitchen. And how he looked like he belonged there. And didn't.

And Ginny wondered if Harry felt as out of place as she did.

"Why didn't you?" Ginny whispered.

Harry didn't answer her for a long time. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Ginny stared at Harry's shoes. She wondered why she didn't care that Harry pretended he was Albert. And figured it didn't matter because she pretended to be Alyson. She wondered why he had red hair that day. And figured it didn't matter because hers was blonde. She wondered why she didn't pick up all the clues earlier. And figured it didn't matter because she knew now. She wondered how long she had wanted Albert to be Harry. And figured it didn't matter because she had always wanted Harry.

She wondered if he wanted her too.

"You don't like magic anymore," Harry whispered.

Ginny looked up at Harry. She looked him right in the eyes. He gazed at her intently. His green eyes searched hers. Ginny remembered when they had been brown. Like her mother's. Like hers. Harry reached down and picked up her injured hand. He cradled it in his own. Just like Albert had.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

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Harry nearly gasped as he felt Ginny's hand turn over and clasp his own. It was warm. And soft. And inexplicably caressing his. The bandage rasped over the calluses on his palm. He could feel her thumbnail scratching against his palm as she stroked it. And her warm, soft fingers grasped his.

And there were her eyes, gazing into his.

Her eyes were big, soulful. They searched his face. Watching him. Studying him. Mesmerising him. He clutched her hand, injury forgotten. And Ginny winced. Harry loosened his grip quickly, too scared to say anything. In case he broke the spell she was weaving over him.

And he wondered why she hadn't just walked away again.

He hadn't meant to kiss her. The idea was ridiculous. A fantasy. A dream. He had meant to tell her he was Albert. But then she kissed him. And he knew that if he pulled away he'd never get the chance to kiss her again. And he wanted to kiss her. Had wanted to kiss her for a long time. And he knew that somewhere, somehow he'd decided that if she ever kissed him, he'd kiss her back. Because he was tired of not feeling anything. And Ginny made him feel something. So he kissed her back.

And now she was waiting.

He had been sure that Ginny would yell at him. For being Albert. For not telling her who he was. But he hadn't been expecting her to know. But he could tell she knew. And she didn't care. He wanted to kiss her again. And he wanted to talk to her. But he didn't want to stand on the back doorstep. Someone would come out. To gawk at them. (Unless George had actually kept his mouth shut.)

It was probably just as well that no one would believe George anyway.

Harry slid his other hand into her good hand and squeezed it gently. She tangled her fingers with his and Harry let her injured hand go as he stepped towards the path that led to the orchard. Ginny followed him closely, her tiny feet barely making a sound on the worn path. He didn't say anything, Ginny just followed him willingly. Harry could feel his world spinning out of control.

And for the first time in years he wanted it to.

It was possible that they might never have said a word. Except Orestis suddenly flew out of the attic window and swooped down at them. (And Harry nearly swore.) And George stuck his head out of the attic window and grinned. (And Ginny did swear.) But Orestis landed on Harry's outstretched arm (and George made kissing noises). Harry didn't know where to look. So he fastened his gaze on George's owl. He could feel the bird's talons digging into his arm. There was a letter in his beak.

Harry stared at the letter.

The owl hooted softly and Harry slowly reached out to take the letter. It was a scrap of torn parchment with George's scrawl flowing across the surface. Orestis clung to Harry's arm and Ginny clung to his hand. Harry nodded to the owl and Orestis suddenly took flight talons uncurling from his arm. Painfully. He could feel Ginny looking up at him. He could hear the parchment crinkle in his hand.

And his own heart beating impossibly loud in his chest.

"What does it say?" Ginny asked.

Harry stared at the parchment in his hand. Remembering. He remembered how much he'd wanted to kiss Ginny Weasley since he was sixteen. And how Ginny had kissed a lot of boys but never him. He remembered how much he'd missed her while he was off trying to defeat Voldemort. And how Ginny had been fighting back at Hogwarts. He remembered seeing her fighting during that last battle. And falling at his feet as he finished Voldemort. He remembered Ginny's fight for life in the hospital wing. And how he loved her so much he didn't want to leave her there alone.

And Harry wondered why Ginny had wanted to leave.

"It says 'About time'," Harry answered.

Ginny didn't say anything for a long time. She stared down at their entwined hands. Harry stared at the path under their feet. He wondered if she would kiss him again. And figured he could kiss her instead. He wondered at the soft sighing sound she made when his lips touched hers. And figured he made the right decision. He wondered if she meant to coax his lips open. And figured she wouldn't be stroking his tongue with hers if she hadn't. He wondered how long they had been standing there, kissing slowly. And figured it didn't matter because he didn't want to be anywhere else anyway.

He wondered if she wanted to see him tomorrow as much as he wanted to see her.

"Come with me to the doctor tomorrow?" Ginny asked.

Harry pulled away slightly. He rested his forehead on hers. He could feel her hands resting on his shoulders. Her brown eyes searched his. Harry nodded, kissing her softly. Then he covered her injured hand with his own, holding it to his chest. Above his heart.

"Of course," Harry said.


	12. Chapter 12 Fix Me

**Chapter 12. Fix Me**

There were a lot of things that Ginny had never known about Harry Potter. And that surprised her because she'd studied him more than her books when they'd been at Hogwarts. She never knew he tapped his quill twice after he signed his name. (Of course she'd never seen him sign anything before.) She never knew he liked watching television. (Of course she never knew how to turn the silly thing on before.) She never knew he was able to change a light globe. (Of course she never knew that switching the light back on while he was still on the ladder would make him fall off the ladder.) She never knew he could work the buttons on a washing machine to make the clothes come out clean. (Of course she never knew there was a lint filter.) She never knew he could cook.

Of course she never knew he liked bacon and eggs almost as much as treacle tart.

There were also a lot of things that Ginny didn't know about herself. And that didn't surprise her too much because she'd been hiding from herself and the world for years. She didn't know she was comfortable with ballpoint pens. (Of course she didn't know they didn't leave ink stains on your fingers.) She didn't know she liked going to the cinema. (Of course she didn't know how good popcorn and fizzy tasted.) She didn't know she liked ironing. (Of course she didn't realise she had to plug the iron in before.) She didn't know grocery shopping was fun when you knew what all the little packets were. (Of course she didn't know which little packets were the sweets.) She didn't know she loved holding Harry's hand more than all the treacle tart and bacon and eggs and sweets put together.

Of course she liked kissing too.

Probably more than holding his hand. They did that a lot in the days after she kissed him on her mother's porch. Harry came to her little cottage the next day with a potted plant and a box of band-aids. He held her hand carefully as they walked down the street to the doctor. He held her hand tightly as Ginny screwed up her face and turned away from the doctor. He held her hand next to his lips and kissed her knuckles softly as the doctor pulled the stitches out and covered the pink flesh with a band-aid. He held her injured hand gently in his own as the doctor explained she should change the band-aid regularly for a few days until it was fully healed. And he held her hand and squeezed tightly as he paid the doctor's bill. As if he knew she would protest.

Which she would have done if holding Harry's hand didn't make her completely insensible.

Harry came every day after that. He waited for her after work and walked her home. And then he cooked her tea. And sometimes they would watch television. Or play Muggle chess. Or go to the cinema. Or go for a walk. Harry changed her band-aid everyday and he only blushed a little bit when Ginny reminded him she worked in a pharmacy and she already had band-aids.

She didn't tell him she could change it herself.

Because she liked the way his fingers caressed her palm. And the way he pressed a soft kiss to each finger tip. And the way he held her hand for a long time afterwards. She liked the way he let her snuggle up to his side as they sat on the couch. She liked the way his fingers drew circles on her thigh while they watched television. And she liked the way he would run his fingers through her hair as he kissed her goodnight.

"Why did you dye your hair blonde?" Harry asked.

He looked sad as he watched the strands weave through his fingers.

"It hurt to be me," Ginny replied.

But she stopped dying her hair after that.

He came straight from work looking like Albert one day.

"Why do you use Ron's hair?" Ginny asked.

She looked sad as she ran her eyes over his unfamiliar features.

"It hurts less to be someone else," Harry replied.

But he stopped coming straight from work. Or at least he changed first. Because maybe he had seen her cringe when he'd used his wand to remove the charms. She tried not to but it happened anyway. She missed her magic. She was jealous. And sad. And scared to go home. Harry stopped using his magic at her house.

And Ginny felt like she was taking his magic away too.

They only went to The Burrow on Sunday for lunch. They used one of George's Portkeys. Never Apparition. They helped her mother chop the vegetables. Without magic. They never played chess at The Burrow. And Harry never played Quidditch with her brothers. And he always helped her mother clear the table by hand. And he never wore robes.

And Ginny wondered how long he would stay.

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There were a lot of things that Harry had never known about Ginny Weasley. And that didn't surprise him because she'd been gone for a while. He never knew she chewed her fingernails. (Of course she probably didn't before.) He never knew she was practically scared of the television. (Of course she was watching the static on channel sixty-three because she didn't know how to change the channels – or turn the volume down.) He never knew she was confident enough with Muggle money to catch a bus. (Of course she worked with money every day so that should not have surprised him at all.) He never knew she could beat him at ten-pin bowling. (Of course he'd never been bowling before and she'd been twice with Kenny Sutcliffe.) He never knew she had never had jelly babies before.

Of course he never knew she had a sweet tooth.

There were also a lot of things that Harry didn't know about himself. And that surprised him because he thought he'd spent enough time with himself the last few years that he should know himself very well. He didn't know he liked home-made pizza. (Of course that might be because he made it with Ginny and she hated pepperoni as much as he did.) He didn't know he enjoyed washing the dishes. (Of course he used to get in trouble for dropping bubbles, not delightful giggles when he threw them around the kitchen.) He didn't know he knew how to fix a vacuum cleaner. (Of course Aunt Petunia had never sucked up owl droppings with it.) He didn't know he loved running his hands through Ginny's hair. (Of course he'd always loved her hair so it wasn't a surprise, not really.) He didn't know he loved Ginny more than all the treacle tart and bacon and eggs and sweets put together.

Of course he'd had an idea.

But it was nothing compared to _having_ her. They spent hours every day at Ginny's house. It had three blown light bulbs, a rusty doorknob and a rattling windowpane. She didn't know how to work her microwave and she had frost all over her freezer. Harry noticed that she flinched whenever he started to do something with magic. So Harry fixed everything the Muggle way. He made popcorn in the microwave and showed her how to change the channels on the television. He chipped the ice away from the freezer walls and bought mould remover for the shower. She jumped when the popcorn began popping. She giggled at all the silly commercials. And she slipped the ice down the back of Harry's shirt. As if she knew he would squeal like a girl.

Which was totally worth it because it made her laugh.

Harry wanted to see Ginny every day. He didn't care that she lived like a Muggle. That was something he could do with his eyes shut. And he didn't mind doing it for her. It was a few weeks before anyone noticed he never did magic around Ginny. And they didn't ask him about it. At first. Although Ron did raise his eyebrow when Harry cleaned up spilled pumpkin juice with a cloth. And George looked at him sideways when he didn't stun the Garden Gnomes before throwing them. And Hermione finally dragged him behind the chicken coop and demanded to know what was going on.

He didn't tell her it was because of Ginny.

But he thought Hermione might know that anyway. She made him prove he had his wand. And made him cast a levitation spell on the chickens. Harry wondered if she thought he'd lost his magic like Ginny. And he didn't know how to tell her he didn't want to hurt Ginny. Didn't want to see her flinch. Didn't want to make her sad. Didn't want to see her cringe. Didn't want to make her cry.

"Why have you stopped doing magic?" Hermione asked.

She looked sad as she watched him twirl his wand in his fingers.

"It hurts her," Harry replied.

Hermione stopped asking awkward questions after that.

Harry went back inside and found Ginny sitting in her old room.

"Why don't you use magic anymore?" Ginny asked.

She looked sad as she twirled her own wand in her hand.

"It hurts you less," Harry replied.

But she stopped flinching. Or at least she hid it better. And she asked him to bring her pumpkin juice. And Chocolate Frogs. And a packet of Canary Creams to feed to little Bobby Nailor. And she wanted to go to Diagon Alley instead of the cinema. And she had her fireplace connected to the Floo. And Harry started using his magic at her house.

And Ginny seemed a little bit more whole.

But they never went to watch Quidditch. They never talked about Quidditch. Only football. They never read _Quidditch Quarterly_. Only _The Daily Prophet._ They never went flying. Even though Harry wanted so badly to take her. And they always avoided Quality Quidditch Supplies. And she never wore robes.

And Harry wondered how long she would stay.


	13. Chapter 13 Flying

**Chapter 13. Flying**

It wasn't that Ginny didn't want to go flying. Because she did. It wasn't that she didn't want to listen to Quidditch on the wireless. Because she did. It wasn't that she didn't want Harry to play Quidditch. Because she did. She wanted him to take her soaring above the trees. She wanted to listen as the Cannons went down and then tease Ron about it. She wanted to watch Harry swoop gracefully across the orchard and catch the Snitch from under Charlie's nose.

But everyone avoided it.

And it was starting to get on Ginny's nerves.

Harry shook his head wordlessly as Ron held the Firebolt in the shadow of the kitchen doorway. George flicked the wireless off as soon as she walked into the sitting room. Charlie put the Snitch away and they took only the Quaffle down to the orchard. Ginny turned to Harry. He was staring at the chess board between him and Hermione. All her brothers had gone. The room was silent. Harry was frowning.

Ginny knew it wasn't because the chess pieces were yelling at him.

"Go and play Quidditch," Ginny demanded.

Harry stared at her.

Ginny stood up and stomped out of the room. And through the kitchen. Picking up the Snitch from the sideboard. And up to the broom shed. Picking up Harry's Firebolt from the rack near the door. And down to the edge of the orchard. Picking an apple as she went.

She could hear Harry following her.

He stopped behind her. His breath ghosted hot across the back of her neck. The Firebolt trembled in her grasp. The apple crunched loudly as she bit into it. Harry's breath hitched. And Ginny waited. Harry dropped a soft kiss on her neck. Ginny's breath hitched.

And Harry's hand closed over hers on the Firebolt.

"Come flying with me," Harry whispered.

"Play Quidditch for me," Ginny answered.

Harry was still. And silent. Except for his hand trembling as it covered hers. Except for his breathing that whooshed past her ear. The clearing beyond the orchard was moving. The trees in the wind. Her brothers on their broomsticks. It was noisy. The smack of the Quaffle. Her brothers cheering.

She wanted so badly to go and watch.

Ginny started moving without realising it. Harry followed her. Silently. She wondered if he wanted to play Quidditch. She wondered if he was just going to please her. She wondered if he would actually get on the broomstick at all. She wondered if she had the courage to go flying with him.

She wondered if she had the courage to stay.

The clearing behind the orchard was bright with late afternoon sunlight. It glittered on the Snitch in her hand. The noise slowed. Then stopped as her brothers came to a halt one by one. The Quaffle dropped to the earth. And Ginny let the Snitch go. It raced off. Fluttering. Twisting. Turning. Charlie turned to watch it. So did Harry.

"Catch it," Ginny said.

She pulled her hand away from the broomstick and sat down in the warm grass. She clutched her apple tightly and tilted her head up to the sky. Harry hesitated. The Snitch zoomed past her ear. Charlie flew slowly towards them. Ron swooped down to pick up the Quaffle. Bill started to swing in lazy circles above the goal hoops. George tilted his head to the side.

"Scared, Potter?" George asked.

"You wish," Harry replied.

And then he jumped on his broomstick and soared into the sky. Ginny watched him fly. And it hurt. Because she wanted to fly too. But she knew he hurt more. Because he hurt when he didn't fly. And he hurt for her when he did. But Ginny knew flying would hurt less.

Eventually.

Ginny watched as Ron blocked all of Bill's shots. And all of George's. And she thought he was a wonderful Keeper. And Bill and George were terrible Chasers. She was much better. Or she had been. Once. Ginny sighed. It sounded like the swish of the Snitch. Ginny crunched her apple. She listened to the whooping of her brothers. She heard Harry laugh. She watched the Quaffle spin through the air. And her heart broke.

And she wondered if she had the courage to go.

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It wasn't that Harry didn't want to play. Because he did. It wasn't that he didn't want to soar through the air. Because he did. It wasn't that he didn't want to hunt down the Snitch. Because he did. He wanted to take flight and soar above the trees. He wanted to loop and roll and swing as he chased down the tiny winged ball. He wanted to catch the Snitch from under Charlie's nose.

But he couldn't hurt Ginny.

And it was starting to get really hard to say no.

Ginny let the Snitch go. Harry let go. And then he was flying. Soaring. Swooping. Spinning. Laughing. He could hear George mocking Ron. And Ron mocking George. He could hear the soft thwap of the Quaffle as it changed hands. And the whoops as Ron blocked all the shots. He could hear the buzzing of the Snitch as it zoomed past his ear. He chased it. Diving. Sweeping. Scanning. Squinting. And Charlie flew under his nose. The orchard was silent. Ginny was frowning.

Harry knew it wasn't because Charlie had won.

"Fly with me," Harry demanded.

Ginny stared at him.

Harry sat up and swooped across the orchard. And past Charlie. Collecting the tail of his broom as he went. And past Ron. Collecting the Quaffle from his arms. And over to the edge of the orchard. Collecting Ginny as he went.

He could hear Ginny squeal as he scooped her onto the broomstick.

He pulled her in front of him. Her breath washed heavily over his face. She trembled in his embrace. She looked terrified. Harry's breath hitched. And Ginny clutched at his shoulders. Harry dropped a soft kiss on her shoulder. Ginny's breath hitched.

And Harry breathed in the flowery scent of her hair.

"Come flying with me," Harry whispered.

"Don't let me go," Ginny answered.

Ginny was still. And silent. Except for her head turning as her mouth sought his. Except for her lips as they clung to his. Harry was moving. Gliding swiftly through the sky. Breaking the kiss so he didn't fly headfirst into Ron. Who was smirking. The Quaffle squeaked as Harry gripped it. Ginny gazed down at it.

Harry so badly wanted her to throw it.

Ginny started moving before Harry realised it. She turned in his grasp until she was straddling the Firebolt. Shakily. Harry wondered if she wanted to throw the Quaffle. He wondered if she was just trying to please him. He wondered if she would stop shaking. He wondered if he had the courage to let her try.

He wondered if he had the courage to wait and see.

The sun was starting to sink behind the trees. It glinted off of Ron's hair. Harry slowed the broomstick. Ron grinned at them evilly. Ginny twisted the Quaffle in her hands. Harry flew to the left. And Ginny let the Quaffle fly. It tumbled through the hoops. Shooting. Zooming. Clean. Ron turned to watch it. So did Harry.

"Suffer," Ginny said.

She pushed her hands on the handle of the broomstick and it tilted towards the earth. Harry leaned forward, urging the broom towards the Quaffle lying on the grass. Ginny hesitated. The Quaffle rolled slightly in the breeze. Ron flew down to them. Ginny stared at the Quaffle. Harry hovered near nervously. Waiting for Ginny to reach for it. Ron tilted his head to the side.

"Scared, Ginny?" Ron asked.

"You wish," Ginny replied.

And then she swung over and scoped the Quaffle up. Harry zoomed towards the hoops. And Ginny laughed. Because she was flying. But Harry knew he wanted more. Because you couldn't really fly in the orchard. And he wanted to take her flying. And soothe away all her hurt.

Eventually.

Harry watched as Ginny scored another goal. And Ron swore. And Bill cheered. And George and Charlie did a victory dance. Harry wanted her all to himself. On his broomstick. Flying. Harry sighed. It sounded like the swish of the Quaffle as it sailed past Ron again. Harry gripped her tightly and whispered to her. He listened to the cries of her brothers. And Ginny laughed. As they flew up and over the orchard. Away from the Quidditch pitch to spin through the twilight.

And he knew they had the courage to stay.


	14. Chapter 14 Love Me

**Chapter 14. Love Me**

If there was one thing Harry Potter knew how to do it was fly. Ginny had no idea why asking him to take her flying wasn't the first thing she had done. It was exhilarating. It was breathtaking. It was magical. And Ginny realised that was why she hadn't asked him. And now he was going to see her tears. And Ginny Weasley never let anyone see her cry.

Especially not boys.

But Harry didn't seem to notice. And if he did he didn't say anything. He just flew. Over The Burrow. Across the river. Above the woods. Along the laneway. Through the village. He flew with one hand on his broomstick and one arm around Ginny. He flew low over the river and high over the village. They must have been disillusioned but Ginny never felt the spell.

And that just made her cry more.

She could feel the wind. Drying her tears. She could feel his fingers clutching at her side. Sliding down to her hips. She could feel his cheek resting against her neck. His breath stirring her hair. She could feel his thighs under hers. Warm and comforting. She could feel how very much he loved her.

And Ginny gasped.

Harry pressed a kiss to her neck. He tilted the broomstick down. Harry pressed a kiss to her shoulder. He levelled the broomstick off. Harry pressed a kiss behind her ear. He touched the broomstick down. And Ginny felt a tear roll down her cheek and off her chin.

And Harry kissed it away.

"Don't cry," Harry whispered.

"I'm not," Ginny said.

But she was and suddenly it didn't matter that Harry knew it.

And Ginny cried. She cried all the tears she had never cried before. Tears for her lost magic. Tears for her lost career. Tears for her lost family. Tears for her lost friends. And Harry held her. Held her and rubbed her back. Held her and wiped away her tears. Held her and whispered comfort into her hair. Held her and cried with her. And then they were kissing. Kissing the tears away. Kissing the sorrow aside. Kissing the fear away. Kissing the hurt gone. And Ginny could feel how very much he loved her.

And she wondered if he knew how very much she loved him.

"Come fly with me," Harry whispered.

And then he swept her onto the broomstick. Like he knew she wouldn't say no. And they were flying. Soaring. Gliding. Laughing. Over the meadows. Across the farmland. Above the suburbs. Along the rooftops. Through the city. He flew with Ginny cradled in front of him. Where she felt safe. And warm. And secure. And Ginny knew she could stay. Wanted to stay. Had to stay. Because she couldn't back out now.

And she didn't want to.

She wanted to be with Harry. Because he made her smile. She wanted to stay with Harry. Because she felt safe with him. She wanted to go to Harry. Because he always came to her. And Ginny knew that it was time for her show Harry that she wanted to be with him. And that he made her smile. And that she felt safe with him. Even when they were standing on a strange, dark street corner in London.

Which was decidedly odd.

Harry didn't say anything. He just took her hand and tugged her towards a doorway. He waved at the doorhandle and grasped the knob. The edge of the door caught as Harry pushed on it and a pile of letters scattered on the mat as he finally shoved it open. He smiled a nervous half smile as he gestured inside. Ginny stepped over the letters on the doormat. She took a few steps down the sparse hallway. She hesitated. This was Harry's place.

And she'd never been here before.

Harry propped the Firebolt in the corner and wrestled with the door to close it again. Ginny peered into the nearest room. It had a bed with rumpled covers and a dresser. (Ginny itched to make the bed.) Harry's Auror robes were thrown haphazardly on the back of an over-stuffed chair. (Ginny itched to fold the robes.) She backed away from Harry's bedroom. And straight into Harry.

"Would you like a hot chocolate?" Harry asked.

He seemed nervous.

Ginny was nervous. And she didn't know why. Maybe it was because they were alone. (But they were often alone.) Maybe it was because she was in Harry's flat. (But they were often in her cottage.) Maybe it was because she'd just been in Harry's bedroom. (Because they'd never been in hers.) Ginny just nodded and trailed Harry through the sitting room and into the kitchen. There was a plant in the corner. (It looked like the one Neville gave her.) There was a stack of dirty cereal bowls on the kitchen sink. (It looked like they had been there a while.)

Maybe Harry was just nervous because he was a slob.

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If there was one thing Ginny Weasley knew how to do it was keep a clean house. Harry had seen first hand how thoroughly Molly Weasley had taught her only daughter. It was exact. It was precise. It was absolute. And Harry suddenly remembered he hadn't made his bed. And he hadn't washed the dishes. And Harry never had anyone over to his place.

Especially not girls.

But Ginny didn't seem to notice. And if she did she didn't say anything. She just stood in his kitchen and watched. As he swept the dishes away. As he got out the mugs. As he poured the milk. As he heated it with his wand. As he stirred in the cocoa. Harry watched as she took the mug he offered and nodded towards the sitting room. Ginny sat on the couch next to him and must have found one of the wonky springs. She glared at the couch viciously.

And that just made him smile more.

He could feel the tension. Swirling around them. He could feel her fingers reaching for his. Sliding down his wrist. He could feel her watching him from under her lashes. Her gaze heavy and full of promise. He could feel her thigh resting against his. Like fire where they touched. He could feel how very much she loved him.

And Harry gasped.

Harry pressed a kiss to her neck. He put his mug down. Harry pressed a kiss to her shoulder. He took her mug from her grasp. Harry pressed a kiss behind her ear. He put her mug down. And Harry felt a tear roll down his cheek.

And Ginny kissed it away.

"Don't cry," Ginny whispered.

"I'm not," Harry said.

But he was and it didn't matter because they were happy tears.

And Harry pulled her close. He cradled her face in his hands and whispered to her. Whispered that cared for her. Whispered that he would never leave her. Whispered that he loved her. Whispered that he wanted her. And Ginny whispered back. Everything that he just said to her. Whispered that she loved him. Whispered that she wanted him. Whispered that she would stay. And then he was kissing her. Kissing her lips. Kissing her neck. Kissing her shoulders. And Harry could feel how very much she loved him.

And he no longer wondered if she loved him.

"Come to bed," Harry whispered.

And then he swept her into the bedroom. Kissing her as they went. Her hands tangled in his hair. His hands slid down her back and found the patch of skin at her waist. And Ginny arched her back and threw her head back. Harry kissed her throat. Leaving a trail down to her collarbone. He laid her on the rumpled bed covers and covered her body with his. Kissing. Stroking. Touching. And Harry knew she would stay. Which was good. Because he couldn't let her go again.

And he didn't want to.

Her skin was so soft. And she smiled as he trailed his fingers along her arm. She tasted so good. And she shivered. He trailed his lips down her chest. His skin was on fire. And he moaned as she dragged her hands across his bare chest. And soon it didn't matter that the bed sheets were rumpled. Because the only thing was Ginny as she touched him. Opened up to him. Surrounded him.

Which was just about the best feeling in the world.

They didn't say anything. They just moved together. He held her close. She pulled him closer. He caressed the soft skin of her neck. She moved over the rough skin of his cheek. He found all the places that made her sigh. She found all the places that made him gasp. He made her tremble and cry out. She made him shudder and moan.

And they'd never been there before.

Harry wrestled with the rumpled bed covers to cocoon them. Ginny looked into his eyes. He gazed back ceaselessly. (He itched to kiss her again.) Ginny slid her arms around him. (He itched to hold her all night.) He took a deep breath. Ready to ask her.

"Can I stay?" Ginny asked.

She seemed nervous.

Harry buried his face in her neck. He pressed a soft kiss there. She belonged in his life. (She always had.) She belonged in his arms. (They had ached for her.) She belonged in his bed. (It was cold without her.) Harry nodded and whispered that he wanted her to stay. That he couldn't let her go now. (It would probably kill him this time.) That she was his world. (And always had been.)

And she nodded and stayed.


	15. Chapter 15 Tea and Tonks

**Chapter 15. Tea and Tonks**

It was odd the way Ron reacted to finding Ginny in Harry's flat at six o'clock in the morning. At least Ginny thought so. It was hard to know what Harry thought because he was still asleep. She eyed her brother warily as he wandered into Harry's kitchen, where she sat, staring at the kettle, unable to get it to heat up. Her brother stopped and looked at her silently for a moment. He didn't say anything. He didn't even look like he thought anything.

"Want a cuppa?" Ron asked.

Ginny just nodded and Ron picked the kettle up and walked to the tap. Ginny watched him fill the kettle hesitantly and set it on the stove. He looked sideways at her before he flicked his wand under the kettle. Then he began to rummage in the cupboard over the range, pulling out two chipped mugs and a bent teaspoon. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, scanning the room and tapping his fingers on his leg. Ginny wondered what he was looking for and why he didn't summon it. She waved her hand erratically out over the kitchen floor.

"_Accio_," Ginny said.

Ron stared at her.

"It's the Summoning spell," Ginny said.

She smirked at him.

Ron grumbled and pulled his wand out. He summoned two tea bags, the sugar and a carton of milk. They wobbled to a stop on the kitchen table. Ginny put the tea bags in the chipped mugs and lifted the lid on the sugar canister. Carefully, she spooned two sugars into her mug and four into Ron's. She wondered why he didn't know where anything was in Harry's kitchen. She wondered why he was looking around curiously. She wondered how he got in. She wondered why he wasn't yelling at her for sitting at Harry's kitchen table in nothing but Harry's old Gryffindor T-shirt.

She wondered why he was smiling.

Ginny stared at the tea bags as they sat steeping in the chipped mugs from Harry's cupboard. Ron jiggled his tea bag a little bit. Ginny stared at the mugs. She was pretty sure they came from The Burrow. From her mum's old brown, earthenware dinner set. The teaspoon looked like one of the set her dad had brought home after work one day when he'd been unable to stop the teaspoons hitting a Muggle on the nose. Her dad finally got the spellwork off but they'd been twisted beyond recognition. Fred and George had fixed them, but they'd all been a little bent since.

A bit like Ginny really.

She wasn't beyond recognition anymore but she still felt a little bit awkward. Her hair was slowly going back to red but she still couldn't pick up her wand. She could go back home but she couldn't fly on her own. She could sit in Harry's kitchen but she couldn't heat his kettle. She felt more like Ginny but she still wasn't herself.

"Breakfast?" asked Ron.

Ginny didn't know if he was asking her to make it or if she wanted some. So she just shrugged. Ron sat at Harry's kitchen table. Stirring his tea with the bent teaspoon. Staring out of the kitchen window. Drumming his fingers on the top of the table. Tapping his foot on the floorboards. Shifting restlessly. Ron kept moving.

And all the while Ginny felt frozen in place.

That was how Harry found them. Sitting at his kitchen table, staring at chipped mugs full of cold tea. He stood in the doorway and scratched the back of his neck nervously. Ron pretended like nothing was unusual. He said something about going into work. And something about missing pudding. And something about Hermione. And something about Tonks.

But Ginny didn't hear any of it.

Especially when Harry walked past her and leaned down to drop a kiss on top of her head. And Ron didn't even flinch. (Although he did make a sort of strangled sound like the time Weston Price had thrown up on Ginny's shoes.) He did tell Harry he should wear a shirt. And Harry just told him Ginny had it. (And Ron was adamant Ginny keep it.) And Ron nodded his head vigorously.

"You should go along," Ron said.

Ginny had no idea what he meant. But Harry and Ron were both looking at her expectantly. (Harry's hair was all rumpled and Ginny found it terribly hard to concentrate.) So she just nodded and hoped whatever she agreed to was a good idea. Harry took her home after that. Because they both had to go to work. And be apart.

And Ginny couldn't think of anything she wanted less.

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It was odd the way Ginny reacted when Tonks answered the electric doorbell. At least Harry thought so. It was hard to know what Tonks thought because she didn't say anything. Harry and Ginny followed Tonks into her kitchen, where she stopped, flicking on the light switch, the fluorescent light flickering harshly. Ginny stopped and looked around silently for a moment. She didn't say anything. She didn't even look like she thought anything.

"Want a cuppa?" Tonks asked.

Ginny just nodded and Tonks started making tea. Ginny watched her fill the kettle and plug it in. She pressed the switch. It started with a little click. Then Tonks pulled out three dainty china cups and three shiny teaspoons. She got out scones. And a sugar bowl. And a milk jug. Harry wondered why Tonks used on dainty china cups.

"Why?" Ginny asked.

Tonks stared at her.

"Why aren't you doing magic?" Ginny asked.

Tonks turned away.

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. He wondered if it was such a good idea, to bring Ginny here, to see Tonks. The kettle whistled and the water bubbled out of the spout before it spluttered to a stop. The switch clicked off automatically. Ginny jumped. Tonks concentrated on making tea. The Muggle way. Like Molly said she always did. Harry wondered why she didn't use magic. He wondered why she was avoiding Ginny's question. He wondered if she always avoided it. He never knew if she couldn't or if she didn't want to.

He wondered why Tonks was crying.

Harry stared at the tea bags as they sat steeping in the dainty china teacups that didn't suit Tonks. Tonks stirred her tea. Ginny stared at the kettle. Harry was pretty sure the kettle came from The Burrow. From Arthur's shed. It looked just like the one he'd been helping Arthur fix. It had been broken once. Now it whistled cheerily.

A bit like Harry really.

He didn't feel the empty hole inside his chest where his heart used to be. His ribs didn't stick out anymore. His hair didn't hang limply in his eyes anymore. His eyes shone brightly. He felt more like himself than he had in years.

"Scone?" asked Tonks.

Harry nodded. Even though he knew Tonks had probably made them herself. The Muggle way. And they'd probably resemble Hagrid's rock cakes. Tonks was restless. Stirring her tea incessantly. Nodding her head to a soundless beat. Drumming her fingers on the bench top. Tapping her foot on the cracked linoleum. Shifting endlessly. Tonks kept moving.

And all the while Ginny was frozen in place.

This was not how it was supposed to go. Standing in the kitchen, staring at dainty china teacups full of cold tea. Harry stood in the doorway and scratched the back of his neck nervously. Tonks pretended like nothing was unusual. She said something about Harry's work. And something about Remus. And something about her broken heart. And something about her wonky magic.

And Harry held his breath.

But Ginny was shaking her head. And made a sound like a cat squeaking. (Although she might also have sounded like Penelope Washburn before she fainted the time a mouse ran across her desk.) Tonks held Ginny's hand. And spoke to her earnestly. And Harry hoped this was the answer. (Ron thought it was.) And Ginny shook her head sadly.

"I can still do magic," Tonks said.

Harry was surprised. Because everyone said Tonks never did magic anymore. (Not since Remus had died.) She held out her hand and Harry gave her his wand. She made the teacup levitate about an inch. It fell down and broke. Tonks gave Harry his wand back and said she just didn't want to anymore. Since Remus. Because her heart was hurting too much. Ginny said her magic didn't work at all anymore and her heart wasn't broken. And she looked at Harry sadly. And Harry knew it wasn't the same as Tonks.

And Harry couldn't think of anything to make it better.


	16. Chapter 16 Anything and Everything

**Chapter 16. Anything and Everything**

Their faces were the worst. When they thought she wasn't looking. Like they thought she wouldn't know they always remembered. Always had to adjust. Always had to be careful. Because she couldn't do magic. It bothered them. Ginny could tell.

And no one knew why.

Ginny didn't know why they thought it would be different. No one knew why then and no one knew why now. It was just gone. She couldn't cast spells (which was annoying when she couldn't reach the salt and pepper because Ron was in the way). She couldn't throw jinxes (which was a pain in the neck when George caught her and Harry kissing in the orchard). She couldn't fly (which was actually quite satisfying because she got to ride the broom with Harry nearly every day).

It didn't seem to bother Harry that he didn't know why.

He would conjure flowers to make her smile (and levitate the salt and pepper over Ron's head). He would send stinging hexes at Little Bobby Nailor when he rode through the puddle near the gate (and tripping hexes at George when he made kissing noises at them). He would take her flying after work (and kiss her senseless when they landed).

It was almost as if he didn't care.

But Ginny knew he did. He wasn't upset that he didn't know why Ginny had no magic anymore. He cared that she was sad. Because he could see it. He could see that she got impatient when everyone around her cast spells to summon things (or sneak food past Ron). He could see that she got frustrated when she couldn't prank Bill (or booby trap George's room). He could see that sometimes it hurt to go flying (and some days it hurt to go to The Burrow). No one else could see all that. They could only see how sad they were that Ginny couldn't do magic.

And no one knew why.

Harry didn't say much about Ginny's magic. He spelled the kettle in his flat to boil automatically every morning. He repaired the kettle in her cottage when the element stopped working. He Apparated her to work on the nights she stayed over. He walked home from work with her the nights he stayed over. He didn't do anything when he found her crying and holding her wand. He didn't say anything when he found her throwing Garden Gnomes over the back fence after her mother asked her to start the washer.

"The washer's magical," Ginny said.

The gnome landed with a wet thud.

They always forgot, Ginny thought. But they always remembered. They just didn't know what to do about it. She found another gnome and threw it. Harry joined her and they threw gnomes all afternoon. They didn't say anything. Just threw gnomes. Then Ginny cried. And Harry held her. Stroking her hair.

"I'm glad it's back to red," Harry whispered.

"Me too," Ginny whispered.

She wished more of her was back to her old self.

Harry kissed her then. Along her jaw. Down her neck. Across her collar bone. He lingered in the hollow at the base of her neck. Ginny threw her head back as he sucked gently there. His fingers tangled in her hair and he murmured against her skin. Ginny didn't know what he was saying. She wondered if it mattered when his touch could make her lose all sense. Ginny clutched at his shoulders. Harry blew softly on her overheated skin.

"Anything," he said.

Ginny didn't know about anything, she just knew that Harry was everything. She wondered if she could ever be everything for him.

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Her face was the worst. Harry knew she thought he didn't see. But he always saw how her face fell when someone forgot. Asked her do magic. Expected her to fly. Because she couldn't do magic. It bothered her. More than she let on.

But Harry knew.

Harry didn't know why they forgot, perhaps she did a good job of pretending. They still didn't know why Ginny couldn't do magic. It was just gone. Harry didn't care (and he told her so every chance he got). Harry adored her (and he showed her that over and over again). Harry couldn't be apart from her (and that was why he simply went to visit her every day).

But it bothered Harry that he didn't know why.

He asked Neville if he thought plants would help (and Neville shrugged and said he wished he could help). He asked all the Healers at St Mungo's if there was anything at all to be done (and growled at them when they suggested locking her away in the incurable ward). He would take her flying after work (and try to forget that no one knew what was wrong and how to help her).

But he could never forget that Ginny still felt broken.

She wasn't broken to him. She was wholly and utterly his life. He wished she wasn't sad. And that he could stop her sadness. He got impatient when everyone around her cast spells at the dinner table and she didn't get the levitating gravy boat until it was empty (or only got the full broccoli dish). He got frustrated when George pranked her (or Hermione tried to discuss magical theory with Ginny). He wished it didn't hurt her to go flying (and that she could fly her own broom even though he didn't want to give up flying with her on his lap). Harry wished she could see that she was still his whole world. That he didn't care that she couldn't do magic.

And Harry was determined to find out why.

Harry didn't say it to Ginny, but he thought it might be spell damage. Because everything else had been discounted. Because nothing else had worked. Because he was desperate to fix it for her. Because she was his whole world. He wanted to spend all his time with her, spend every night in her bed, or have her in his. He wanted to be with her always.

"I will do anything," Harry said.

He kissed her throat.

Ginny didn't say anything. Her hair fell in waves down her back as she arched her neck. Harry wondered if she heard him. He wondered if she wanted him to do anything. He wondered if he could do anything. Harry knew he'd have to start with the classified files. He would need Hermione's help. And probably Ron's. And it would help that he was Harry Potter. Because Harry could get just about anything. If he wanted to. If he asked for it.

"I'm going to find out why," Harry whispered.

"Me too," Ginny whispered.

Harry didn't know what she wanted to find out.

He asked her then. She shook her head. Captured his lips with hers. Begged for entrance with her tongue. He pulled her closer and let his fingers glide over her skin. Harry pulled away to whisper again. To tell her that he wasn't going to stop looking, that he would do anything to make her whole. Harry didn't know what she was thinking. He wondered if she wanted him to do anything. Harry clutched at her waist. Ginny let a tear roll down her cheek.

"Anything?" she asked.

Harry didn't know if he could do anything, he just knew that trying was everything. He wondered if he could give her everything.


	17. Chapter 17 Worlds

**Chapter 17. Worlds**

Working in the pharmacy wasn't what Ginny wanted to do with the rest of her life. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. But advising Mrs Walcott on her bunions and inspecting Mr Alderton's ulcer wasn't what she wanted to do. Nor was dragging Ron away from the restricted section. Of course the Muggles didn't call it that. But Ginny didn't know what else to call a section devoted to … prophylactics.

And haemorrhoid suppositories.

Harry thought Ginny could be a reporter. Ginny thought Harry was a little barmy. Ron thought Harry had a point. Hermione thought there was no reason Ginny couldn't. George thought Ginny should move the … prevention display to a more prominent location and pair it with the perfumes.

"Symbiotic selling," George said.

"English, please," said Ron.

It was the first time anyone but Harry and her parents had visited Ginny in the little village in the middle of nowhere. They even caught the bus. The regular bone-jolting bus from the train station. Not the Knight Bus. Ginny wasn't sure it had been such a good idea. Spotty Rob had seen George levitate the hand wash when he'd come in for … protection. And Sally Poole had nearly been Obliviated in the cover up. As it was she couldn't seem to remember she'd been leaving with Spotty Rob and his … products.

It's possible Ron did Sally a favour.

Ginny sighed. She was no closer to discovering why her magic had gone. (Although she was closer to strangling George with her bare hands.) She was no closer to being comfortable at The Burrow. (Although she was closer to moving in with Harry completely.) She was no closer to figuring out what she wanted to do with her life. (Although she was closer to nailing Little Bobby Nailor to her gate post.) She was closer to feeling alive again. (Although she was no closer to feeling whole again.)

There was still a part missing.

Harry smiled at her tentatively and Ginny smiled back. She didn't want him to think she didn't appreciate the visit. Because she did. It was easier to see people here. In her world. Except for the fact she had to constantly drag her brothers away from the Star Wars bubble bath. And listen to Hermione plan … things. It was a relief when Harry dragged them out and back to her cottage.

"We'll wait for you to finish work," Harry said.

Ginny watched them walk down the street. She missed them. She missed Hermione lecturing Ron about his behaviour in public. (And the way Ron made her stop with a kiss under a lamp post.) She missed the way George left Wheezes in everyone's pockets. (And made kissy faces at Ron and Hermione whenever they locked lips.) She missed the way Harry laughed so freely with Ron and Hermione. (And plotted with George to leave a sticking charm on Ron's hands.) She just never got to really be part of that anymore. It was still funny to see Ron yell when he couldn't move his hand from Hermione's bum.

And her left boob.

Ginny chuckled and went back to dusting the Barbie shaped bubble bath and the rubber ducks. She thought about bringing one for her dad. She thought about how to avoid the way her mum looked at her when she couldn't do simple magic. She thought about how embarrassing it was when she couldn't unlock the toilet door at The Burrow because the lock was magical and kept getting stuck. She thought about the way she would hide in the orchard when it all got too much. She thought about how she didn't know how long she could try being part of the magical world.

She thought about how she couldn't bear to leave Harry.

She was still thinking a lot as she walked home after work. It had all seemed so simple. Live. Love. Be with Harry. But he was part of a world she wasn't.

Not anymore.

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Watching Ginny's sad eyes wasn't something Harry wanted to spend the rest of his life doing. He wasn't sure exactly how he was going to avoid it. But he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And he wondered if that meant marriage. Because that's what people did, didn't they? Harry didn't know how else he was supposed to keep her with him … always.

And forever.

George thought Harry should propose. Harry thought George was a little barmy. Ron thought George had a point. Hermione had no idea the three of them discussed Harry marrying Ginny. Harry thought it wise not to tell her because somehow he knew she'd disapprove of their conversations.

"It makes sense," George said.

"Just do it," said Ron.

It was the first time Harry had brought them to visit Ginny in the little village beyond the end of the train line. They even went the Muggle way. Which was a step up from the Knight Bus. Ron only threw up once. Harry wasn't sure it had been such a good idea. George wandered around the cottage charming things to scream. And Ron nearly locked himself in the toilet when he spelled the Muggle lock and it got stuck. As it was Harry was terribly confused about marriage.

It didn't seem right.

Harry sighed. He was no closer to figuring out how to make Ginny happy. (Although he was closer to hexing George for charming the kettle.) He was no closer to knowing if marriage was the right thing. (Although he was closer to moving in with Ginny completely.) He was no closer to figuring out how to get Ginny's magic back. (Although he was closer to trapping Little Bobby Nailor near the gate post.) He was closer to feeling whole again. (Although he was no closer to feeling settled again.)

There was still a part missing.

Harry smiled as Ginny approached the gate. Little Bobby Nailor trailed behind her and George and Ron smirked. Because they'd charmed the puddle. It was easier to see Ginny here. In her world. Except for the fact that Little Bobby Nailor was a brat. And was getting what was coming to him. It was sweet victory to see him stuck in the puddle … sinking.

"You completely roasted him," Ginny said.

Harry watched Ginny high-five her brothers. He missed this. He missed seeing the Weasleys together and laughing. (And the way Hermione frowned at them.) He missed the way Ginny could wind them all around her little finger with one smile. (And made them cry with pain and Bat-Bogeys.) He missed the way she mucked about with Ron. (And plotted with George to turn him into random animals.) She just never got to really be part of that anymore. It was still funny to see Ron squawk when he turned into a tropical parrot.

And sit on Hermione's shoulder.

Harry chuckled and went back to thinking about marriage. He thought about asking her dad. He thought about what her mum would say. He thought about how embarrassing it would be when Mrs Weasely cried all over them both. He thought about how it wouldn't really solve anything. He thought about how she would just get trapped the magical world.

He thought about how he couldn't bear to leave her.

He was still thinking a lot as they said goodbye to the others. It had all seemed so simple. Live. Love. Marry. But he was still part of a world she wasn't.

Not anymore.


	18. Chapter 18 Magic

Chapter 18. Magic

Ginny Weasley did not want to be at Hogwarts. She had not been to Hogwarts for a long time. Because she did not want to be there. She had suffered enough there. She had survived enough there. She had no desire to go back there. But Harry had asked her.

And so she went.

She didn't tell anyone that she didn't want to go. But they all knew. She could tell. Her mother was worrying too much over her hair. (And Ginny was worrying the loose thread on her cloak). Her father was twisting his hat in his hands. (And Ginny was twisting her hair around her fingers). George was telling too many bad jokes. (And Ginny wasn't telling anyone anything). Ron was tapping his fingers incessantly, silently on his knee. (And Ginny was tapping her foot incessantly, silently on the grass). Harry was staring straight ahead, at nothing.

And Ginny was staring at the back of Bill's head.

Hermione was giving the speech. Again. She always gave it. Ginny hadn't heard the speech in three years. But it sounded the same. Hermione even looked the same. Ginny wondered if she was the only one who had changed. But she knew she wasn't. Professor McGonagall had more worry lines. Hagrid had more grey hair. Charlie had more burns. Neville was no longer an awkward child.

The White Tomb no longer gleamed.

She supposed it was a good thing. Remembering the end of the war. But it just made everybody sad. Because they had to remember who they lost along with what they gained. It didn't seem right that something so wonderful could make sadness crawl over her and settle in with its cold fingers. And wrap freezing tendrils around her heart. Squeezing relentlessly. Torturing her with every beat. With every breath.

With every sob.

She hadn't meant to cry. She hadn't meant to change the way she did things. Show emotion. But Harry had torn down all the walls. And now her paper thin heart was fluttering in the relentless breeze of grief. She clutched at her chest as icy fingers wormed their way into her chest. Twisting. Wrenching.

Tearing.

Ginny remembered why she stopped coming here. Never came here. Couldn't be here. This place held all the bad things. All the sorrow. All the heartbreak. This was where she'd lost friends. Family. Harry. Her chest felt like it was being ripped apart. Torn in half by cold, icy fingers of grief. Pain. Rage. But Ginny just sat there. Quietly.

And let the tears fall.

They slid silently down her cheeks. Dripping onto the sun warmed grass. Gliding silently over the white knuckles clutched to her aching chest. Warm. Moist. Sticky. The ice in her chest melted. The arms around her pulled her close, into a warm, comforting embrace. Hermione kept talking. The sun was too warm. The ache in her chest too hot. Stinging. Bubbling.

Burning.

Ginny's breath hitched. Her fingers tingled. Hermione kept talking. The burn in her chest spread. Her fingers flexed. Harry kept talking. The sun was too warm. Her heart was pounding. Everyone kept shouting. The fire replaced the ice. Her veins writhing. The world went silent.

Except for the loud cracking sound as the earth opened up.

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Harry Potter did not want to be at Hogwarts. He came to Hogwarts every year. But he did not want to be there. He had done enough there. He had sacrificed enough there. He had no desire to go back there. But McGonagall asked him.

And so he went.

He didn't tell anyone that He didn't want to go. But he thought they all knew. He couldn't really tell. Ron was worrying about Hermione. (And Ginny was worrying the front of her cloak). Ron was twisting his handkerchief in his hands. (And Ginny was twisting her cloak between fingers). Hermione was reading the same speech she always gave. (And Ginny wasn't saying anything). Ron was fidgeting incessantly, silently in his chair. (And Ginny's tears slid, silently down to the grass). Ginny was hunching, clutching, gasping.

And Harry pulled her close.

Hermione finished giving the speech. Finally. She always finished eventually. Harry felt like it took longer every year. But it was always exactly the same. Hermione looked worried. She was watching Harry as he held Ginny close. Ginny was shaking. Her breathing grew laboured. She clutched frantically at her chest. The earth gave a deafening crack as it split open right where it had all ended.

The White Tomb leaned sideways.

The silence afterwards was deafening. Until chaos erupted around him. But Harry ignored them all. Because he only cared about Ginny. Something wasn't right because she kept twisting and writhing in his arms and clutching at her chest with shaking fingers. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her head. Whispering in her ear. Trying to calm her with every breath. With every word.

With every kiss.

He didn't recognise it at first. He didn't notice the change as Ginny quietened. Relaxed slightly. But something had torn down all the barriers. And now her skin was flushed and glowing, a shimmer dancing across her rosy cheeks. It was there, the something that had been missing before. Sparkling. Shining.

Magical.

Harry remembered the moment she had dropped in front of him. Right on this very spot. Where he'd ended it. And he'd felt life drain away. All of Voldemort. All of Ginny's magic. This was where she'd lost her magic. Family. Career. He could see it clearly now. Her life, her essence, torn from her by sizzling spellfire. Arcing. Cracking. And Ginny gasped. Softly.

And the magic danced.

It seemed to swirl around them. Making the world glow. Showering them in tingling warmth. Exciting. Promising. Happy. Ginny smiled. It was the smile she'd smiled years ago, before the war took her spark and Harry felt his heart fill. Hermione was talking. The spell had tied Ginny's magic here. Then she left school. The time away had made the magic unstable. Breaking. Cracking.

Gone.

Ginny's magic had found her. Twisted its way back to her. Hermione kept talking. The smile on Ginny's face spread. Her fingers flexed. Harry gave her his wand. The shower of red and gold sparks was spectacular. Harry's heart was pounding. Everyone kept shouting. Ginny threw her arms around his neck. Harry threw back his head and laughed. The world fell away.

As he kissed her.


	19. Chapter 19 Happy

**Chapter 19. Happy**

In the five years since her magic had found her again, Ginny Weasley had not used a glamour charm once. She frowned as she peered in the mirror, letting the large powder brush dangle useless between her fingers, dropping tiny pinpoints of powder across the top of her mother's best doilies.

Of course if she actually wanted a glamour charm she could do it, but she wanted to wear Muggle make-up today.

Ginny sighed heavily as she eyed the disgustingly lacy doilies lined up in a neat, orderly row across the top of the dressing table. White, lacy doilies, she decided were the stupidest household decoration ever. There was dust all over them and several splotches of something unidentifiable splattered across three at the right. She groaned as she realised that her mother had put out several vials of evil smelling beauty goop and hair care potions. It smelled like the back corner of Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing in this corner of her mother's bedroom and Ginny didn't know how she'd get out of using these concoctions without earning a disapproving frown.

What she wouldn't give for solitude right now.

She could dump it or vanish it if she was alone. Then she could use her own make-up (just like used every day) and she wouldn't have to worry about upsetting her mother (just like she did every time she still did something the Muggle way).

But Ginny Weasley was not going to be alone today. There was no way. She didn't think she wanted to be anyway. She knew it would hurt her mother incredibly if she banished her. And Hermione would frown and look at her sadly. And the last thing Ginny wanted was for anyone to frown and look sad. There had been entirely too much frowning and looking sad.

And no one needed to do that anymore.

The warmth and laughter that surrounded her daily was as healing as anything magical. Levitating Ron every time he visited never got old (and he didn't mind that she did it) and sticking George to the chair was funnier every time she did it (and sometimes dangerous). Ginny had learnt that she'd missed so much by cutting herself off from her family. She also learnt that once her magic returned everybody who didn't care before suddenly cared and they started calling … or coming around … or talking to you on the street.

You would have thought going out with Harry Potter meant something.

But it didn't. Knowing that Ginny Weasley was attached didn't stop young wizards from showing an interest. Knowing that Harry Potter was a powerful wizard didn't stop the young wizards from turning up unannounced. Or serenading underneath her window. Or asking her on a date. Or proposing marriage.

Some days Ginny Weasley felt particularly annoyed.

Like the day she had to Bat Bogey Frank Wallmeyer and the spell hit Bill … and Charlie … and her mother who had been standing in the doorway. Or the time she got locked in the pantry because Everard Twigfitler had arrived as she was helping her mother with dinner and Percy's dimwitted girlfriend tried to help and accidentally sealed the door instead of casting a Repelling Charm and Bill had to come and undo the mess George and Ron made trying to get her out.

And by the time she got out she was desperate for the loo and Everard Twigfitler was teaching her mother how to make lacy doilies.

There was a time when Ginny could walk down the street without anyone batting an eyelid. When she could slip unnoticed down Diagon Alley and through The Leaky Cauldron to Muggle London without turning a single head. Or shop for clothes and jewellery without dodging six reporters, five autograph hunters, an old woman with advice and Nigel Mumford. Not that Nigel _did_ anything.

But he was really creepy.

Ginny got used to it after a while. Harry would go after them, but it didn't do any good. It wasn't like even Harry could stop the gossip. Or stop everyone _staring_ at them. Or make _The_ _Daily Prophet_ stop printing lies. He'd helped her move back to The Burrow though and Ginny managed to convince Old Healer Brightgood in the little apothecary at the end of Diagon Alley that she could help him out. Some days Ginny was so light-hearted she practically floated (as long as she ignored Nigel Mumford when he lingered outside the shop) and Harry was always smiling now too (which made her mother positively ecstatic). But mostly she was completely besotted – utterly in love and totally head over heels.

In Love.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

In the seven hours since he'd seen Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter had not been able to sleep a minute. He frowned as he peered in the mirror, buttoning his shirt and trying to do up his tie, making a complete and utter mess of it.

Of course if he actually wanted to make the tie neat he could do it, but he was trying to fill in time.

Harry sighed heavily as his fingers involuntarily tied a perfect knot, done up in a neat, orderly bow at his neck. Bow ties, he decided critically were the stupidest looking tie ever. And he went searching in his wardrobe for a better one. He groaned as he realised that any tie in his wardrobe probably wouldn't look right. It looked like a tangled jungle of paisley and plaid in this corner of his wardrobe and Harry didn't think he'd get away with wearing one of them without earning a disapproving frown.

What he wouldn't give for a plain black tie right now.

He could wear a plain black tie. Then he would look sensible (just like he did every other day) and he wouldn't have to worry about upsetting Molly Weasley (just like he did every time he suggested something).

But Harry Potter was not going to wear a plain black tie today. There was no way. He didn't think he wanted to anyway. He knew it was important to Ginny. He didn't want to upset her. And the last thing Harry wanted was for anyone to frown and look sad. There had been entirely too much frowning and looking sad.

And no one needed to do that anymore.

There was nothing to be sad about anymore. Harry and Ginny were blissfully happy (and Ron wouldn't stop going on about it) and Ginny was getting on wonderfully with her magic (and hexing George regularly). They spent so much time with her family, his family. They remembered how much they missed their family and they started calling … or going around … or talking to them on the Floo.

You would have thought Ginny never moved out.

But she had. It was hard for Molly at first but she knew it was right for Ginny. It was hard for Harry at first because he wasn't used to living with anyone anymore. Or cleaning up after himself. Or coming home to someone. Or waking up with someone.

Some days Harry Potter felt particularly happy.

Like the day he had come home to see Ginny making a cake and she'd dropped the bowl and batter had splattered on the table … and the floor … and Neville's pot plant in the corner. Or the day he had taken Ginny to the little village twenty miles from nowhere and given her his mother's ring under the lamplight near her old cottage with one knee in the puddle and Little Bobby Nailor splashing her stockings as he rode past.

And by the time they stopped laughing and Ginny said yes the ring fell in the puddle and they had to fish it out.

There was a time when Harry would walk through his apartment in the dark without caring. When he didn't notice that lights were out or the plant in the corner was dying. Or that he hadn't cleaned the kitchen in days or that the bathroom smelled a bit musty. Not that Harry did _that_ anymore.

Because he didn't feel that way anymore.

He felt like he was on top of the world. He gave his bow tie one last grimace and then smiled at his reflection. No one would be _staring_ at his neck. Or even at _him_ at all. No one would be looking at anyone but Ginny, including him. He left his bedroom wearing his new dress robes and a grin (ignoring Ron who smirked at him knowingly) and Hermione straightened his tie for him (even though it didn't need straightening). Because Harry was completely besotted – utterly in love and totally head over heels.

And Getting Married.


End file.
